


Banished From Sanctuary

by OnlyOneWoman



Series: Down Foreverdark Woods Trail [2]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Anxiety, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Asexuality Spectrum, Bigotry & Prejudice, Billy and Ned are asexual and happily married, Brother-Sister Relationships, Canon Divergence Characters, Childhood Memories, Domestic, Family Angst, Fear, Flashbacks, Friendship, Guilt, Hate, Hate Crimes, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, In-Laws, Love, Lowbones, M/M, Medication, Nightmares, Original Character(s), Panic Attacks, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Assault, Personal Assistant Anne Bonny, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Powerlessness, Psychological Trauma, Rape Aftermath, Rape Culture, Rape Recovery, Recovery, Same-Sex Marriage, Self-Harm, Service Dogs, Shame, Suicidal Thoughts, Therapy, Uncle-Nephew Relationship, Victim Blaming, Violent Thoughts, asexual marriage, nephew, supportive husband
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-14 19:07:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 35
Words: 32,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10542699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlyOneWoman/pseuds/OnlyOneWoman
Summary: This is part two of the freestanding follow-up to the modern AU "Aces Of Spades And Hearts" series, that takes place about three years after Billy's and Ned's wedding in "At Ends Of Nights" (part 7 of "Aces...").Ned is not the villain here, but a victim of gang rape and is on the very shaky road to recovery and his husband Billy still doesn't know who did this to him. Ned knows, but can't make himself tell, since one of the rapists is Billy's ex boyfriend, Woodes Rogers..."Banished From Sanctuary" is part two and continues a couple of weeks after the last chapter in "While Your Lips Are Still Red".I will use both 1st and 3rd person pov with both Billy and Ned. Each chapter will be named with the pov. I also want to point out that this is VERY canon divergent when it comes to the characters, especially Ned Low. Wipe out the image of him as a cruel sadist, because this is not the case in the AU at all.If you're a fan of History Channel's "Vikings" and remember Tadhg Murphy's role Arne, or have seen this awesome actor in another role than Ned Low, "my" Ned will be far closer to those than the Ned Low character. And Billy is definately not a "Black Sails season 4 Billy".





	1. Ned (1st person)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mad_Amethyst](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Amethyst/gifts).



”Come here, girl! Come here!”  
  
Why am _I_ here? That’s right. To be rescued. From myself, your ex boyfriend and his two friends. My nightmares have names and faces now and you know non of them. So you’re trying to make me get to know a dog instead. Wonderful.  
  
She’s happy. Too happy, but I guess I’m the wrong person to judge right now. I used to be happy too. But I’m no dog and I guess dogs have the advantage over humans when it comes to happiness. Stupid animals. Stupid humans. The man who’s calling for his dog, is blonde with blue eyes. Why the fuck does everyone except James have blue eyes? Oh, and the blonde man’s wife. She’s got brown eyes and a smile I’m not sure I like.  
  
”Ned, this is Mary Read.”  
  
Mary Read? The fuck kind of a name is that for a dog? The woman sees my confusion.  
  
”She’s named after the famous pirate.”  
  
How interesting. The new meds must work pretty well, since I don’t care two shits about being dragged out to the countryside and look at dogs. My husband seems pleased thou and he sinks down on his heels to say hello to the beast. The man nods at me, smiling.  
  
”You don’t have to say hello to her if you don’t want to.”  
  
The fuck is this constant trying to guess what I want and not? I approach the dog and kneels before it, one of my now scrawny knees on the ground. The nutritional drinks helps a little but my appetite is still at rock bottom and I feel like a bloody bag of bones. A freezing bag of bones. The woman nudges the dog.  
  
”Mary, this is Ned.”  
  
Stop acting like dogs can learn human’s names. She’s not an ugly dog, thou. A white Golden Retriever with stupid eyes and she seems very well-mannered. I hold out my hand.  
  
”Shake a paw, huh.”  
  
There. Is he happy now, seeing me all fucking enthusiastic about this? My chest suddenly tightens. It always happens so fast and the dog comes closer, sitting next to me just stays there. The warm, furry body pressed to my side. I feel watched and then, as if she’s a fucking mind reader, the woman starts talking to Billy – or both of us, I’m not sure – about this particular race and this particular dog.  
  
The dog stays still beside me and the man sinks down before her. Or us.  
  
”She’s a real treasure this one. Three years old in a week.”  
  
And I guess you’ll make her a doggy cake and wear stupid little hats. I’ve been on a waiting list that magically shrunk, probably because these people are James’ and John’s friends. I don’t want this. I don’t need this. What I need is to forget all about that night, start eating and get on with my life. The air becomes hard to pull down again. This was a bad idea.  
  
”Come here, hon.”  
  
What do I need a service dog for, when I already have a human watch dog? Billy tugs a little at my pocket.  
  
”You have your pills?”  
  
You fucking put them there, I want to say, but don’t. I let him take up the little box with chemical wonders and I swallow one of them without water. And the stupid dog stays close to me all this time.


	2. Billy (3rd person)

”We’re eating soon.”  
  
Nod. _I heard you, asshole_. He can read Ned’s changed bodylanguage pretty well by now. The stiff back and curved neck. Touching is still very hard and massages belong to a different life. There are days when Billy wakes up, wondering if he’s still married. Not because the bedside is always empty, sharing beds was never something either of them took for granted. But the emotional intimacy they shared, is gone.  
  
He goes back to the kitchen, pouring the water from the pasta and stirring the tomato sauce. He’s made meatballs. Because Ned usually likes them. Usually. That’s his fucking second name. The new medicines work far better than the old, and that means Ned is now a walking instead of a clawing zombie. Pale, indifferent, silent and most of all about the rape. That fact that his husband knows who did it but refuses to tell anyone anything, is creeping under Billy’s skin.  
  
Ned comes down, putting his hair back in a scruffy bun. He’s pretty, has changed to an old longsleeved t-shirt and dark brown combats. Idelle has helped him take them in a few inches. Billy smiles at him.  
  
”Could you take out the salad from yesterday?”  
  
The blue salad bowl. White plates on the unpainted table. A pale sun on the rag carpet in red, blue and black. Ned’s feet in knitted socks moving like an unusually slow cat. His hands with the blunt nails... Fuck.  
  
”You bit yourself again, huh?”  
  
He’s turned to that. Gnawing at his fingers until they bleed when he gets stressed. Which is often.  
  
”I’m fine.”  
”But…”  
”Billy. Please. Not _now_.”  
  
It’s so hard to know. When to intervene and when to take a step back. When Ned wants to be left alone, but at the same time not. And it’s so hard to stay away when the one you love more than anything is fighting memories he refuses to share.  
  
The slow, mute tears no meds can take away and maybe that’s good. That he’s crying instead of keeping everything inside but Billy’s never seen anything reminding of release in those tears. They only show when Ned’s too tired to resist and those moments are the worst for him. Dr. Howell has said the best thing Billy can do, is to not leave him alone when that happens. Not push him to talk, only stay close. And that’s why the idea of a dog has become a serious option. Billy lifts the jug.  
  
”Water?”  
  
Nod.  
  
Staying as calm as possible. Accepting without commenting if it’s not necessairy. It will pass. Ned will realise it’s passing faster if Billy stays calm. These attacks, no matter if it’s sudden tears, clawing, gnawing or shear panic, are parts of their life now. Along with meds, doctor’s appointments and two disastrous attempts to conversational therapy with two different therapists of which one thought Ned should focus on the fact that he was alive and one who insisted asexuality was a bigger issue than rape. Billy eats. Waits. When Ned’s had a few mouthfuls and has to pause a little, he says it.  
  
”That dog. Mary. What do you think?”  
  
A shrug. Better than nothing.  
  
”What’s the fucking point?”  
”They’re very effective, you know.”  
”I’m not blind.”  
”You know it’s not that kind of dogs.”  
”I don’t need a fucking babysitter, Billy.”  
”No, you don’t.”  
  
He’s tired. The time that’s been passing since the assault has been the worst in Billy’s life. Not that he compares it to what Ned must feel, but still. He sighs.  
  
”At least it’s not a human. Aint that something?”  
  
Ned looks up, the one seeing eye as empty as the prostethic. More mute tears. He’s exhausted. From the dog arrend. The crying. Everything. Billy puts his fork down.  
  
”Can I hold you a little, hon?”  
  
It’s been days since any touch between them and when his husband finally gives a little nod, Billy leaves his place and kneels beside the broken form, holding him carefully. He doesn’t say it’s alright, ’cause it’s not. But it’s something. It’s something.


	3. Ned (3rd person)

Billy’s making a fire. It’s not many things that makes Ned even remotely happy these days, but this is one of them. At least it makes him less miserable. And even though crying usually doesn’t make things feel better for him, it did tonight.   
  
He’s making tea after dinner. Didn’t manage to eat even half the portion but took a nutritional drink as a complement and some of Billy’s worry left. Ned stares at their tea collection. Lemon. Earl Grey. Blackberries. There are at least ten more kinds and he can’t choose. He mutters.  
  
”The fuck am I supposed to pick a fucking dog when I can’t even bloody pick fucking tea…”  
  
A laugh. Ned can’t even remember the last time he heard Billy laugh. It’s bright and it’s contagious. Ned smiles. It comes natural. Billy’s laugh is still one of the sweetest sounds to Ned’s ears and it forces him to smile. Billy comes in the doorway, still laughing and Ned just shakes his head.  
  
”What are ye laughing at?”  
  
No answer. Just another laughing fit that forces another smile on Ned’s lips.   
  
”Ye’re such a muppet. Sure ye’re not the one who needs a damn dog?”  
  
They have nothing to laugh about and so they laugh at nothing. The kettle’s done and Ned fills the teapot. Still laughing. Then crying. He’s too tired to be self-conscious about it now and Billy doesn’t fuss. He clears the table, puts their plates in the dishwasher and takes their old teacups from the cupboard.  
  
It’s a chilly evening and sitting by the fire feels… alright. Quite alright, actually. There’s a sliver of life in this numb existence after all. And enough space between him and Billy.  
  
”You don’t have to do that, hon. Just hold the cup.”  
  
He’s clawing. Again. The space becomes smaller when he can’t stop.   
  
”Is it too hard, Ned?”  
  
Hands. His husband is close enough to take his hands, but instead he holds his own out. Palms like a bowl. A nest. Letting him choose.   
  
The cracking fire, quiet evening. Last spring was different. It had life. Colors. It didn’t hurt, wasn’t lonely or fearful. The only numb feeling in Ned’s body being on his own lips, sore from kissing. Billy is life, his hands safe and loving. They’ve never hurt Ned, never made him feel uncomfortable or incomplete. Never traveled where they weren’t welcome. With all the effort he has in this moment, Ned puts his hands in the cradle that is Billy’s big hands.  
  
He’s at home. He’s safe. He knows where he is. Billy is here. Ned is so tired of this. Of remembering. Not remembering. Talking. Not talking. Hiding. He longs for his husband with his whole being. Longs so much it’s like a fever. But he can’t make himself. The fear that the touch he longs for will turn into someone elses is too big.   
  
”What if I’ll never… be myself again?”  
  
He’s not even aware of saying it, until Billy answers.  
  
”You’re afraid you wont?”  
  
Ned nods. Yes, he is. Billy’s thumb moves over Ned’s palm.  
  
”Just because things change you, it doesn’t mean you’re no longer you.”  
  
He wishes he could believe that. Maybe he could try. It’s been nice to sit here and not be so scared. To not feel so broken. If so only for a moment.


	4. Billy (1st person)

I’ve changed the bedsheets earlier. Yours too. I don’t expect you to sleep next to me, but it doesn’t make it any less lonely. Touching you by the fire should’ve felt good, but it was sad. Reminded us both of how hard that is. Why it has become a big deal when it shouldn’t be.  
  
It’s not exactly unusal for us not to sleep in the same bed. It’s always been important for us to have a choise. To not be questioned for our need for privacy. The overwhelming feeling of being too close can still hit us. Not necessarily the same time, but we both know how important it is to have the space. Not getting questioned. Because sometimes you just need to be on your own. You’re standing in the doorway, the one leading in to your room. You look lost. Indecisive. I take my pajamas and move to the bathroom, turning around.  
  
”Wanna watch a movie?”  
”On the laptop?”  
”Yeah.”  
  
I deliberately narrow the options. Want you to remember that you can lay next to me without danger. Want you to say yes or no for yourself. And I don’t want to go down to the telly now. I get to the bathroom, changing and brushing my teeth while giving you time to think. Getting back to our bedroom and you still look like you don’t know what to do. I put my laptop on.  
  
You sit on your side of the bed, still dressed and you’ve put your blue cardigan on. Maybe you’re freezing or maybe you want to make sure I don’t get the impression you want more closeness. Whatever it is, it’s still your choice and I don’t have the right to question you. Even if I had, I wouldn’t and I want you to know that. I smile at you.  
  
”What do you want to watch?”  
”Don’t know… Pride and Prejudice?”  
  
This is one of the things I love so much about you. You’re never ashamed of what you like. Unlike me, you’ve always seemed to certain when it comes to this and I guess you partly have your mother and most of all the theatre to thank for that. I’ve been afraid for showing myself ”girlish” far longer than you and I can get really annoyed at myself for still not being as comfortable as you with this. I mean, I love the Jennifer Ehle/Colin Firth version from -95, yet I never suggest it. It’s like something I just can’t bring up, just like I could never get all heart-eyes over a dog or a cat the way you can.  
  
You tuck a knitted blanket over your knees and crawl up on your side of the bed. The pink lamps spread a warm light in the room, I can smell almond from your schampoo and almost pretend it’s a normal night. Except you’re crying, I can’t hold you and you’re so skinny and sad because of what three to me unknown people did to you.  
  
It’s a good choice of movie, though. Or series. I cling onto these small gaps with free air, moments of escape. Of Colin Firth’s serious face and Jennifer Ehle’s witty comments. Innocent dresses and hats. Your meds work and you’re relaxed again. Your hands lay still on the blanket.  
  
”Ye’re serious ’bout that dog?”  
  
You don’t look at me and you sound really tired, as if you’re about to fall asleep. Drousy and calm. I want to take your hand, but only put my own close enough for you to take if you want to.  
  
”Yeah.”  
”Ye think it will help…?”  
”I do.”  
  
No, I’m not sure, but you know that. I’m just pretty sure it can’t get worse. You sigh.  
  
”Need that Zopiclone now, while I’m still calm.”  
  
I hand the glass and the small plastic cup to you. The sleeping pill works best when you’re already calm. Your muscles are so tense without these meds it’s scary to think you went for long days at home while being unable to relax. I want to scoop you up in my arms, give you a massage, draw you a foam bath and hand you a cold beer…  
  
”Thanks, hon.”  
  
Sleepy smile, your hand searching for mine. You’re already half asleep and I dare to think this will be a calm night. And I want to think you’re laying next to me not just due to the meds, but because you feel safe with me.


	5. Ned (3rd person)

He doesn’t need a dog. But dogs are better than people… Ned’s mood has been shifting by the hour the last couple of days. It’s not anxiety, those levels are eased by the meds but his mood is… bizarre. One moment, the idea of a service dog doesn’t seem so bad at all, good even, and then it makes him furious. And now he has human watch dogs, which is just awful.  
  
They’re his friends. Billy’s friends. They mean well and although he can take some of John’s and Ben’s care, the rest can just go fuck themselves. Not that Ned says it, but he absolutely hate being looked after like a damn child. And it’s not as if locking the door to their home helps, since there are sparekeys. It’s hard to tell where the line goes between friend and keeper right now.  
  
Ned doesn’t need a dog, but no matter how much he hates to admit it, Billy being gone even for an hour makes him tense and worried. Even if he’s companied by friends. It’s not John, Ben, Idelle or Max he needs, but his husband. His tall, muscled husband who never would’ve been attacked because he is strong and Ned isn’t and that’s why Billy thinks he needs a dog, because Ned is fucking weak who got fucked – Ned refuses to think the word rape – by one man and two women who put something in his drink when he didn’t keep watch. How would a dog have been able to prevent that?  
  
He wants to stay at home, but still show Billy he can manage without guards with or without fur. So Ned decides to just leave. He writes a note and has his phone with him, puts his jacket on and slips through the door before Idelle, who has the shift this afternoon, comes out from the toilet.  
  
The air is cold but it feels good to be alone. Billy will come home soon, but maybe he doesn’t even need Billy’s company as much as he thought? Ned walks quickly down the street, eager to put as much distance between him and Idelle as possible. Between him and people. He only gets three blocks before the panic hits him. It’s not a small attack either.  
  
He feels numb in his hands, feet and knees. His mouth is dry and he feels dizzy, the air is suddenly too cold and he has to lean on something because his legs are shaking. There’s a car close and Ned slumps against it, not realising how it looks. He doesn’t need a dog. Just some support for his body.  
  
”Hey! Get away from my car!”  
  
Door. Loud voice. Fast steps. And the beginning panic attack turns up to the max. Suddenly, the air cuts off and there’s prickles before his eyes and Ned waves his arms and when the man grabs his wrist, he screams.  
  
More steps.  
  
”Let go of my husband!”  
  
He doesn’t look up, can’t make himself to, but he hears.  
  
”He’s fucking mad!”  
”Let go of him, I’ll handle this. Just don’t touch him.”  
”He was touching my car, mate!”  
  
One more hand. A push.  
  
”Hey! I said don’t touch him!”  
”The fuck’s his problem, huh?”  
”He’s having a panic attack, he doesn’t know what’s happening.”  
  
_I know!_ Ned wants to say he knows, shout it out for the whole damn street to hear that he’s in fucking control of this, but he isn’t. He wants to be, but isn’t. Billy comes closer, holding a hand out.  
  
”Babe? Come here. It’s alright.”  
  
He glares at the other man.  
  
”Let go of him, please.”  
  
The hand leaves and then Billy’s there, hand reached out for Ned to take but he can’t. It’s Billy, it’s his husband, he’s safe with him. Right?  
  
”It’s alright, Ned, I’m here. There’s nothing to be afraid of, hon.”  
  
Billy’s talking softly and slow. His eyes are calm, his whole appearence just tall, strong and steady. Everything Ned isn’t now. He bites his lip hard and uses every strenght he has to go to him. The huge arms come around him, embraces his stiff, angsty body and he can feel the heartbeats through Billy’s shirt, his mouth in his hair, whispering.  
  
”Easy now, babe. It’s nothing dangerous, noone’s gonna hurt you.”  
  
So soft. All those huge muscles, those large hands and there’s only softness. Strenght, but never harshness. A steady rock for the crushing waves to break against. For Ned to fall apart and knowing not a single piece of him will get lost.  
  
”You’re ready to go home, love?”  
  
A sigh that goes over in a small whimper. The sharpest egg of the panic cuts off and Ned shivers, the cold finally catching up on him. Billy takes his jacket off, draping it around him. It’s comically large on Ned’s bony body now, but there’s nothing even remotely comic about that. He presses himself to his husband’s large frame, searching sanctuary in his arms. Billy’s voice, low and soothing against his ear.  
  
”Whenever you’re ready, hon.”  
  
And after a while, Ned manage to walk with Billy’s arm around him, slow and shaky back home. Guarded by his human watch dog.


	6. Billy (1st person)

We’re lucky. After I’ve been waiting, explaining, crying and nagging with three different people on the phone the entire morning while you still slept, I finally got to speak with Dr. Howell. I know he’s not your doctor, but the one at the healthcare centre only prescribe meds and since you’re not asking for a psychologist yourself, you’re not on any waiting list. And even though it’s probably not many sensible words that can be heard through my sobbings, the man in the other end of the line, makes an exception and we get an appointment. After his regular hours.  
  
Lucky. You’re a shadow of your former self, a mess and I’m fucking lost. You sleep til lunch, exhausted from the panic attack and the long hours it took for you to sleep. When your meds work it’s almost acceptable. When they don’t, it’s hell.  
  
Both James and John keep us company now and even though I trust our other friends, it feels better with those two. You seem just a little bit more calm with John than the others, don’t know why and I don’t care. All I want, fucking all, is for you to get your life back. _Our_ life.  
  
Taking you to the doc involves protests, but this is not negotiable. I make sure to prepare to leave almost an hour before your appointment, a good thing it turns out, since you’re practically impossible to get moving. You’re laying in bed and it’s not until I threaten to carry you to the car, swept in a blanket, that you get up.  
  
You’ve slept in the same clothes you went out panicking in last night and refuse to change. You look terrible. Pale with dark rings under your eyes and skinny like you’ve been starving. Which you, when I come to think about it, actually have. When we finally leave, you’re starring with a blank gaze through the car window, silent as a mute between me and John in the backseat. James is driving.  
  
We’re lucky. To have friends like these. Who help without question. Who know when to just step in. Who take time off from work to just be there. You’re anything but grateful now, but allows me to hold your hand. Halfway to the hospital you even lean your head against my shoulder and I’m on the brink of tears. I feel so useless, looking at your thin wrist. What kind of a husband am I, who can’t even make my sick man eat properly? And why, why won’t you tell me who did this, when I can see you know. Have tried not to push you, tried to give you space but in the same time, how can anyone expect be to take a step back when you’re falling?  
  
Finding a parking lot is not easy, so James simply drops us off by the entrence and you let me and John take you between us, leading you inside like a child and walk with you through the corridors and elevators to the clinic. While John sits down with you, I talk to the receptionist, who’s not as surprised to see us as I thought. Dr Howell has probably told her.  
  
We must wait for a while and I see other patients and their relatives. Or friends. I hold you tight to me, my arm around your shoulders and I place kisses on your hair. People look at you and want to protect you from their eyes so I glare back, trying to make it clear they should look elsewhere. I’m very grateful both John and James are staying with us. James is a pro when it comes to cold glares and he places himself slightly in front of us, to give a sliver of privacy. John helps us further by snaking an arm around James’ waiste. Almost every person seems to think two apparently well men holding each other in public is far more interesting than a skinny wreck leaning against his husband. We’re lucky.  
  
Waiting goes… fine, I suppose. You seem to have lost all the will and energy to resist or even move and in the too white light in the clinic, reflecting on the white walls, I realise you look even worse than I first thought. Maybe it’s the light, but I think your face look more green than white. Or blueish. Cold and bloodless inside out. James goes to buy us some coffee and after another twenty minutes, it’s finally our turn.  
  
A nurse comes to show us right and as before, you follow without really seeming to care. You’re getting a bed and the nurse explains they’re gonna take some tests before the doc arrives. That makes me a little worried at first. You hardly communicate and I’m afraid you’ll get too stressed and scared again, but it goes alright. I hold you the entire time, except when they weigh you. The numbers on the scale makes my heart jump. Another seven pounds?! You’ve lost twenty fucking pounds since the assault… How the fuck is that even possible?  
  
Your blood pressure is too low, your pulse too high and a small whimper slips you when the nurse takes blood tests. It’s nearly soundless, but I hear it and so does the nurse. She’s calm and has gentle hands.  
  
”I’m almost done, Edward.”  
  
Edward? Oh, right… No one ever calls you that. Edward Oisín Low. _Do you, William Thomas Manderly, take this Edward Oisín Low to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, in good times and woe…_  
  
I did. I do. Your blood samples are done and your white arm swathed. And I still don’t know the names of your terror. _  
_


	7. Ned (3rd person)

”How are you feeling, Ned?”  
”Like shite.”  
  
He uses the Irish tone, as he often falls back into when he’s too tired. He’d prefer not to talk now, but ht least he can and it’s a familiar face and voice. Dr. Howell still has his hair quite long in a ponytail, still has the friendly eyes and a ring on a chord around his neck. Ned’s gaze fixes on it.  
  
”Ye’re married?”  
”Since fourteen years. With a man.”  
  
Ned’s gaydar has always been worthless so he’s surprised and Dr. Howell sees that. He smiles.  
  
”A grumpy war vet named Willem DeGroot, who insists on smoking his pipe in my kitchen, turning the radio on too loud and arguing with our cat.”  
  
He sounds both tender and a little harsh saying it, the fond glimpse in the brown eyes revealing that kind of slow and rough, a bit ordinary love that there’s nothing ordinary about what so ever. I makes Ned think of home, of the life he’s no longer living and misses so much he can hardly stand it. He doesn’t realise he’s crying until the doc hands him a tissue.  
  
”Ye love’im?”  
  
He’s not sure why he blurts it out. It’s not any of his business and he really doesn’t care. The doc gives his small smile again.  
  
”He’s blunt, has a terrible mood in the mornings and he could’ve chosen more pleasant siblings, but yes, I love him very much. How about you?”  
”Me?”  
”You and your husband. You love each other?”  
  
For some stupid reason, Ned’s not prepared to get that question in return and he’s suddenly lost for words again. He only nods, trying to stop crying. The doc just nods.  
  
”It’s very clear you do. He’s worried.”  
”I know.”  
”He says you refuse to talk about the assault.”  
”There’s nothing to talk about.”  
  
The doc looks down on his papers.  
  
”You show a lot of signs of ptsd. And your test results… You’re malnourished and you’ve lost a lot of weight in short time.”  
”Food sickens me. But I try to eat, I really do.”  
”Yes, your husband told me. He also says your friends are staying with you when he’s at work, because he’s afraid to leave you alone. That you’ve clawed and bit yourself, have nightmares and wont leave the house.”  
  
The meds they’ve given him blocks the anxiety and panic extremely effective and that’s as much a surprise as a relief. Ned feels he should react like he’s done when Billy brought this up, but he can’t and the doc sees his confusion.  
  
”Your doctor at the healthcare centre hasn’t put you on the recommended dozes of your meds, Ned. I don’t know why she decreased them, but that was a huge mistake and there’s no wonder you’ve felt worse. This is not your fault, at all.”  
  
Then why does it feel like it is? If it wasn’t, why would the memory of him turning his back on his beer, leaving for a piss and then put the glass to his mouth without thinking keep playing in his head? Ned’s never in his whole life thought of not leaving a drink unsupervised for fear of getting drugged. Until that moment, the only thing that’s ever happened when he’s left a drink of any kind standing for some minutes, is either himself forgetting about it becuase he’s been a bit too plastered already or someone else, equally plastered guy mistaking it for his own.   
  
He’s watched over Idelle’s and other female friends drinks a number of times. He’s followed them to the bus, the cab or walked them home after a wet night out. He used to pick his younger sister up when she’d been to parties when he still lived in Dublin. Their parents were always more strict with his sisters when it came to this and they thought it was increadibly unfair, which it was. When Ned came home with bruises, dead drunk as a sixteen year old, they were angry and called him stupid – and he was – but they never scolded at him the way they did with Fiona and Rose. The way their mother lectured them about creeps they had to watch out for.   
  
The word itself was never said, there was no need. It was clear to all that a girl who wasn’t on her toes while having fun, had herself to blame. Why would it be any different for Ned? He was stupid, so stupid he didn’t even know he was a prey until it was far too late and not only those who spiked his drink, but even his own body betrayed him.  
  
If the doc has said anything more after ”this is not your fault”, Ned’s not heard it. All he can hear is his father’s anything but friendly voice, telling an already crying Rose how fucking stupid she is to get drunk around boys. That it’s ”slags like her who end up with bastards before they finish school beacuse they couldn’t keep their bloody knickers on.”   
  
He can hear Fiona defending Rose, screaming back at Phelan that he doesn’t make it better and he’s one to talk about keeping the pants on. How Phelan turns to Fiona, raises his hand and Ned quickly slides between them as Elan grabs hold of her husband and uses the voice that’s been known to make grown men shrink to dirt under her foot screaming it’s enough, Phelan Low, and that he should get the fuck out and not come back until he remembers how a father should treat his daughters. And the look of utter disgust Phelan throws, not at Rose but Ned, before he leaves with an ”apparently, I have three of them now.”  
  
”Ned? Do you hear me?”  
  
Hands. Gentle ones. Ned opens his eyes, brimming with tears and sees the doc, who holds his own scratched hands to prevent them from clawing. The brown eyes calm and kind.   
  
”I obviously can’t tell how you feel right now, Ned, but what I do know, is that these reactions are not uncommon with rape victims. Nothing of this is your fault, you’re not weak and you have nothing to be ashamed of. The blame lies fully on your attackers. They and _only they_ are responsible for this.”  
  
The kindness. It reminds a lot of his husband, only without the worry and pain. Ned turns his face to the side, holding the doc’s hands as were they lifebuoys.  
  
”Me… me husband… He must never know… Ye hear me? _Never._ ”


	8. Billy (3rd person)

Making his husband eat is, thank God, not Billy’s responsibility right now. Or the meds. Dr. Howell wants to keep Ned at the ward for some days and for some reason, Ned accepts it. Perhaps he’s simply just so worn out from the last days of attacks, he can’t protest anymore. But Billy can also see that his husband seems to be quite calm with not having him stuck to his hip all the time now. Dr. Howell has adjusted the medication once again and it’s a huge difference. Also, Ned apparently talks to him.  
  
At first, there’s a small tug of jealousy – or perhaps just sadness and frustration – in his belly when the doc tells him. Billy’s not been able to get a word out of Ned about the attack and he’s his husband, for fucks sake. And there’s not much the doc can tell him without breaking his confidentiality. The logical part of Billy understands that, it even understands why Ned doesn’t want anyone to know, but the emotional part of him is anything but understanding. It’s raging and mourning.   
  
Billy leaves the ward after kissing his indifferent husband goodbye and drives straight home to Charles and Elle. They have dinner, Elle leaves for her book club and Billy and Charles end up on the couch, watching series and sports. And later crying. From Billy’s part. Charles puts his arm around him and holds him. All their friends except James have always been quite cuddly with their close firends and being held by Charles now helps. In order to be strong for Ned, Billy needs to be weak with someone else. When Charles fetches his whiskey bottle, Billy starts protesting but his friend is having non of it.  
  
”One drink wont give you a hangover, you fucking giant. You need to relax and this is some good whiskey, I’ll tell you.”  
  
A couple of iced drinks later, Billy can’t do anything but agree and yes, it does feel a little better. He sits down on the floor, letting Charles massage his rock hard shoulders a bit and when the man mutters about what the fuck’s happened with Billy’s muscles, Billy laughs. And he can’t stop. Charles just shakes his head.  
  
”I knew I was a catch, but no one’s called me funny.”  
  
That only gives Billy another fit, laughing and crying, crying and laughing because he’s been so focused on Ned’s pain and tension for so long, he’s forgotten about his own. He wipes his face on his t-shirt, sweeping another drink Charles so generously poured him.  
  
”Did I tell you when he came home late from a party with the theatre and decided to celebrate that _Romeo & Juliet_ had ended so he swept a beer glass with fucking _absinth_ , thinking it was wine because he just grabbed the first bottle he got his hands on and didn’t care to look?”  
  
Billy shakes his head from the memory, as another hysterical laugh goes through him.  
  
”God… I was sleeping in my own room and didn’t hear him coming home and then… You should’ve heard him! Five in the morning I woke up hearing him quarrel partly in _gaelic_ with an imaginary cat in the hallway!”  
  
The drink is doing magic, allowing good memories of his nerdy, silly husband come forth. Billy leans on Charles’ shoulder, half-way on his third drink and dries his eyes with his arm.  
  
”Fucking hell, Chaz, I love him so much I’m gonna go crazy for real soon. The fuck am I gonna do to help him, huh? I’m a useless husband right now…”  
”Hey, we’re not going down that road, Billy. You know he loves you, he knows you love him and he knows you’d do anything for him so don’t fucking blame yourself or I’ll punch your face.”  
”But what do I do? You know, I can’t stop thinking if those fucking… animals knew him. If they’re living close, if I’m passing them on the street and they’re just going on with their lives while Ned…”  
  
A small sob comes from him and tears starts all over again. The door is opened.  
  
”Charles?”  
”We’re here, babe.”  
  
Elle comes in, worried as she sees them, but Charles just holds his hand up.  
  
”It’s alright, Elle. We’re just a bit tipsy.”  
”No shit? You boys saved some for me?”  
”When did I ever finish good scotch without you?”  
  
Elle just rolls her eyes and kisses her boyfriend. Then she gives Billy a hug.  
  
”Hey there, hon. How are you holding up?”  
”Not at all.”  
  
He wipes some more tears from his cheeks and allows her to stroke his hair.  
  
”You’re gonna get through this, hon. You and Ned and we’re still here, remember?”  
”I know… Don’t know what I’d do without you guys…”  
  
It’s not an exaggeration. Without friends like these, Billy knows this seemingly foreverdark trail would be impossible to follow.


	9. Ned (1st person)

Hate the hospital, but I force myself to cooperate. To have the nutritional drinks, take my meds and not shut off. At least not too much. But I cry a lot, often without no visible reason and no warning. It just happens. At mealtime. When I brush my teeth. When I turn around in the bed to face the window and see the sun, realising I could’ve been in our garden now. Or rehersing, looking forward to a concert or just have a lazy evening with Billy on our couch.  
  
Ben, John and Idelle come and visit and it actually feels alright. Ben and Idelle have a book from the theatre and my favourite chocolate I unfortunately can’t eat right now. John brings me blue and grey mitts, somehow knowing I freeze a lot and the concern makes me cry, of course. After a couple of days, I’ve almost stopped caring about that, since I can’t stop it and mostly don’t even notice when it’s about to happen. As long as people don’t make fuzz and starts asking what I feel, I can handle it.   
  
Perhaps it’s the meds, or the environment – I’ve never found hospitals relaxing before so no, it’s probably just the meds – but I tend to search more for closeness again. Only with my husband, of course, but still. I don’t have a room of my own here and the older man in the other bed, suffering from some kind of depression I think, and his daughter coming to visit, both look at us in weird way. Don’t know if it’s judging or just curiosity, but they’re clearly not used to see two men this close. Billy’s never far from my side here. We’re talking inches. Sometimes he sits on the bed, leaning against the head end and holds me in his arms.  
  
I’m not really the jealous type. There was some insecurity in the beginning and I still don’t like it when people eat him with their eyes, but mostly I don’t care. He loves me and even if I think he deserves better than me, I know he thinks I’m worthy. And I know other people who look at us, seeing we’re a couple, wonders how the hell someone like me got my hands on a ripped hunk like him. Some of the female staff look at him too and when it’s someone I don’t like, I make sure they know I see their staring. And I don’t have to ask them to know they all ask themselves whether Billy stays with me because of pity or because I somehow manipulated him.  
  
Today he’s tense. I can see it the way his eyebrows narrow and the nervous twitching on his lips. I can read my husband pretty well, even in this state and I take his hand, stroking it as I lean onto his chest.  
  
”What’s wrong, muppet? I mean… besides this.”  
”Your mom and Fiona called.”  
  
Fuck. I’ve not been in touch since that night and I knew it was only a matter of time before at least one of them would get worried. I swallow.  
  
”What did ye say?”  
”That you’re in hospital. Again.”  
”For what?”  
”Panic attacks.”  
  
Meds or not, the safe space I created from my family is being ripped apart now and my breathing gets worse. I let go of my husband’s hand, clutching on the bedsheet instead.  
  
”And?”  
”They’re coming over.”  
”What?”  
  
He sighs.  
  
”They’re flying from Dublin as we speak. Fiona and Liam.”  
  
My sister and my four year old nephew? Are they fucking crazy? I want to tell my husband to get the fuck out and stay away for a month but before I manage to find words, Billy speaks again.  
  
”You’ve not talked to them in two months, Ned, and I’ve ran out of excuses. I wouldn’t be surprised if Fiona suspects I’ve been trying to keep you away from them. ”  
”Tell’em to take the next flight back. I’m paying for the tickets.”  
”Hon, you above all should know that would only make them determined to never go back to Dublin again. And since you’re not talking to them, or answering texts och e-mails, you can’t blame them for being worried. Your mom would come too if she hadn’t caught the flu.”  
  
I’ve changed my mind. I love the hospital. My husband strokes my hair and suddenly I feel invaded.  
  
”Don’t.”  
  
I move to leave his lap, forces the arms to unfold and he follows. When I have the bed to myself again, I pull the sheet to my chin and turn my back on him.  
  
”Leave, Billy.”  
”Ned, I…”  
”Now. Before I say something I’ll regret.”


	10. Billy (1st person)

Honestly, I don’t know if I should regret my decision. But on the other hand, how could I have stopped them? I pick them up by the airport and Fiona has a happy smile on her lips, a worried glance in her eyes and a cranky four year old in her hand.  
  
”Look, Liam, it’s uncle Billy!”  
  
Liam is not impressed by his uncle, not this close after a flight and he holds onto his mom and his blanket. Fiona gives me a hug with her free arm.   
  
”Hi, Billy. How’s the situation?”  
  
I love Fiona. She and Elan always go straight to the important things. I don’t even try to smile and take her bag so she can carry the tired kid to the car.  
  
”Not good. And he’s pretty pissed at me for telling you.”  
  
Fiona snorts.  
  
”Well, that’s me baby brother in a nut shell. Maw’s so worried she’d come with us if she’d not been in bed.”  
”I don’t think they’d allow her to visit him anyway. Not if she has the flu.”  
”Speaking of flu… Why’ve ye lied to us?”  
”It’s complicated.”  
  
That’s the most stupid thing I’ve said in weeks and my sister-in-law look at me like _seriously, you have a lot of practise to do if you’re ever gonna be good a lying._ She applies some lip balm and checks at her kid who’s made us both a huge favour by falling asleep.  
  
”Ned and I have always been pretty close, Billy. I’ve been in mind to come for a month and would’ve, wasn’t it for this little guy getting the chicken pox and then a bloody ear infection. What’s happened, really?”  
  
I start the car.  
  
”He really got pneumonia, but that was only a… biproduct.”  
”Of what, Billy? I’m not in for riddles now.”  
”He was attacked.”  
”Attacked?”  
”Three people spiked his drink when he was on a pub and then they assulted him and left him in the snow.”  
  
My knuckles are white around the steering wheel, but I feel strangely calm. Fiona, on the other hand, looks like I’ve hit her.  
  
”When did this happen?”  
”About… six weeks ago.”  
”Good God, Billy, why didn’t you tell us?!”  
”Because he told me not to.”  
”Who did this? _Why?!_ ”  
”He wont tell. Not me, not his friends, not the doc… Listen, Fiona, can we just take this conversation when we’re home? I’m not good at driving and talk about this at the same time.”  
”Yes, yes of course, Billy. It’s just… Fuck!”  
  
Fiona doesn’t look like Ned at all, with her brown eyes and dark brown hair. She reminds more of their half-brother Dylan while Rose and Ned look at lot more alike. Fiona is pretty, a bit too skinny and always on the go. Now she drums with her hands on her knees and her eyes flacks a bit.  
  
”Sorry ’bout me tics. They get worse when I’m worried.”  
  
She has ADHD and probably one of the most energetic persons I’ve ever met. Terrible short-term memory, a lot of tics and she’s a kick ass highschool gym teacher who loves her students and can’t stand her colleges. She bites her nails now.  
  
”When’s visiting hours?”  
”Pretty much around the clock for close family, depending on the illness, but I doubt he’ll want a visit today. He told me to leave when I said you were on your way.”  
”Ye did the right thing calling me. Should’ve called and told me like it was six bloody weeks ago!”  
”I know but it wasn’t my decision to make.”  
”How bad was it?”  
  
Bloody, frostbitten feet. Pneumonia. Bruises. Bleeding rectum, sore cock, cracked lip and bruisings all over…  I swallow hard.   
  
”It was bad…”  
  
She pats my hand.  
  
”You’re right. We should take this at home. And speaking of that, have ye any eating plans or should we order some pizza? I’m starving and I can’t think on empty stomach.”  
  
There’s something very Idellish and Benish with her. Or perhaps they’re all just reminding a lot of Ned’s mom. Effective, straight to business and pratical. And I could need that now.


	11. Ned (3rd person)

”Are you very angry with him?”  
  
Ned just snorts. Angry is an understatement and John isn’t stupid. Ned would prefer him to leave too, but for some reason he doesn’t say that. John sits in a chair by the bed, doing sudoku and not taking his eyes from the squares and numbers while talking.   
  
”Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have called Hal if Billy was laying in that bed.”  
”And ye would’ve been pissed if James started to make decisions over yer head, so spare me fucking sermon, John.”  
”You think he did this easily? He’s been in fucking agony over this and what was he supposed to do? Lie to your sis again? Billy’s not the problem here, Ned.”  
”No, I am.”  
  
John sighs and puts the sudoku down.  
  
”This isn’t working, Ned. Fuck’s sake, I know I didn’t handle my situation very good, but this… It will eat you alive if you never talk about it. Believe me, I know why you want to avoid it at all costs, but it doesn’t work and you know it.”  
”It doesn’t matter who did it. It doesn’t changed anything.”  
”Then why not tell him?”  
”Because… Ye know, I don’t have to tell ye anything.”  
”No, but you do.”  
  
John looks straight at him.  
  
”Billy’s not half as good at reading people as I am, Ned, and you know that. I’m not only pretty damn sure you knew who did it, but I also think you _know_ at least one of them.”  
”Ye’re wrong.”  
”Then perhaps Billy knows one of…”  
”Stop it.”  
  
He could just as well hold up a sign saying ” _my husband knows my rapist”._ His still exhausted body tightens up again, the loss of control so painfully clear.   
  
It’s all about being helpful. The meds, the friends support, Billy telling Fiona, Dr. Howell’s calm professionalism and John telling about his own experience on this subjucet, but it’s not helpful. It’s tearing down what little Ned has left of normality and control. He used to have good control over his life. Not too much, not too litte. Now he has none.  
  
His body and mind are working in perfect sync to shut people out, protecting the remaining control in every way they can. To make it hurt less.  
  
”No one blames you, Ned. You know that right?”  
”Can’t ye all just stop trying to live me life for me?”  
  
His chest is tightening, his hands turning into desperate fists.   
  
”And all this… fucking worry. Ye, Billy, me sister… So fucking _understanding_.”   
”I understand a little.”  
”No, ye don’t! Ye don’t understand shite!”  
  
Snow. Blood taste. The wetness, the pain. The laughs.   
  
”Ned?”  
”Get out. Know!”


	12. Billy (1st person)

”Uncle Ned?”  
”He’s not home, sweetheart.”  
”Uncle Billy?”  
”That’s right, kiddo, I’m here.”  
”Maw sleeps.”  
”Is she now?”  
”Wanna be with uncle Billy.”  
”Is that so? Well, jump up here then, monkey.”  
  
Fiona needs to sleep and a wide-awake four-year-old is no the best of companies. Liam climbs up in my bed, sucking on his pacifier and with a stuffed sheep in his hand. I put my book down and hold my arm out so he can snuggle in.  
  
”Where’s uncle Ned?”  
”He’s in hospital.”  
”I wanna see uncle Ned.”  
”Maybe later, hon. You want a snack?”  
”Later.”  
  
I have a hard time not to laugh. Liam is a decisive kid and I remember how much I hated it when adults laughed at me in that age. I was so serious in that age and people made fun of that. Maybe I was an overly sensitive kid, but still. My early childhood, before Hal adopted me, wasn’t very funny so I had few things to laugh at in Liam’s age. Actually, never laughed much until I met Ned.  
  
I’m glad his sister is here. And his nephew. I’m really not a kids person, but right now it’s kinda nice with a person who’s too little to understand things I worry about.  
  
”Uncle Billy?”  
”Yes, kiddo?”  
”Are you and uncle Ned in love?”  
  
Christ, I’d forgotten how much they talk in that age. I smile.  
  
”Yes, we are in love.”  
”Why’s he not here?”  
”Because he is sick, hon. He’s in hospital.”  
”Why’s he sick?”  
”Well… someone made something bad to your uncle and his stomach got hurt. So the doctors must give him medicine.”  
”Why did they do bad things?”  
”I don’t know, kiddo. Sometimes people do bad things. But your uncle will get better again.”  
  
I don’t lie for Liam’s sake as much as my own. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that thing about ”bad people”, but there’s a limit on certain kind of lies. I simply can’t lie completely. Liam tugs a my arm.  
  
”Maw said someone hit him.”  
”When did she say that, Liam?”  
”When she spoke with da.”  
”I see. Did you tell mommy you heard that?”  
”Nah-uh. Not s’ppouse to listen.”  
  
I give him a kiss on his hair.  
  
”She’s right about that. It’s called eavesdropping and that’s naughty. But sometimes you hear mommy or daddy talk about grown-up things, by accident. That’s not naughty, Liam and I’m sure mommy would want you to tell her that you listened.”  
”Why did they hit uncle Ned?”  
  
I pull him closer and he’s grabbing my shirt with his small hand.  
  
”Because they were bad people, kiddo. And sometime bad people do bad things to nice people.”  
”When’s uncle Ned coming home?”  
”I don’t know, sweetheart. But you know what? I happen to know that uncle Ned would love to get a nice drawing from Liam while he’s in hospital.”  
”Can’t do that, uncle Billy.”  
”Why not?”  
”Forgot me crayons.”  
  
I smile.  
  
”Have you forgotten about the special Liam drawer uncle Ned made specially for you?”  
”The drawer!”  
  
He’s excited now and almost drops the pacifier. I nod.  
  
”Yes, the special Liam drawer. I bet that if we take a look there, we’ll find some crayons for you.”  
”Can we look now?”  
”Sure.”  
  
When Fiona wakes up, she finds us in the kitchen, where Liam’s busy making drawings without spilling apple juice over them, and I make us some coffee. Liam holds up the paper.  
  
”Look maw, I’m making a drawing for uncle Ned.”  
”How sweet of you, Liam. It’s very nice. You made our house?”  
”Yeah.”  
”You remember when uncle Ned and uncle Billy came to visit? When you made a snowman?”  
”Uh-huh. It had grampa’s hat.”  
  
I’m very grateful Liam’s a calm kid. He’s busy with the picture and I sit down with Fiona. She has cream in her coffee and her hands fidget a little around the cup.  
  
”Hate this… The tics. So happy Liam didn’t got it from me. Apparently, I chose the right fella.”  
”So did I.”  
  
Light brown hair falling in his face. Bright laughter. A lithe body moving around with a manuscript in his room, learning lines and cursing when his tongue twists. His sweet, asking kisses. One brilliant eye. The softness in it when I carried him over the treshold. He had rain in his eyelashes. And suddenly my own are brimming with tears.  
  
Fiona is there, thin like her brother is these days, but not from malnourishment. She’s strong and calm, her arms like a comforting vice. I hear Liam’s, for a kid weirdly measured tone of voice.  
  
”Uncle Billy’s sad, maw. ’Cause uncle Ned’s sick.”  
”I know, sweetheart. Ye know, why don’t ye make a drawing for uncle Billy too?”  
”Alright, maw.”  
  
My sister-in-law is great with kids. And usually, she’s just as good with her own brother. My husband may feel like I’m betraying him for not being able to close fucking boarder between England and Ireland, but I’m desperate and ready to let Fiona Low step in.


	13. Ned (1st person)

Not ready to forgive him. I love my husband, I know he meant well and I know I’m giving him a hard time now. But I don’t care. I just don’t give a fuck. Billy, Fiona and everyone else fucking caring so damn much about my eating habits, my meds and my mood swings can just go to hell. If Billy thinks I’ll forgive him just because he thinks he did the right thing, he’s so fucking wrong. And I’m not crying because I’ve been longing for him. It’s the bloody meds that fucks with me.  
  
”Liam made drawings for you, hon.”  
  
I’m not letting him hold me, not leaning against him, not clutching his hand because I forgive him. Not at all. I’m just overly sensitive, that’s all. The drawings are on the table and I wonder how my little nephew would react if he saw his uncle like this. I’m not crying over that either. I’m not.  
  
”Fiona plans on staying for a while. She and Liam have the guestroom.”  
  
His low, warm voice. The Leicester dialect. Before all this, I didn’t think of myself as small in his arms, but him being huge. Now I feel like I’ve shrunk and his arms are massive around me.   
  
”Are you alright with that, babe?”  
”Does it matter?”  
  
He sighs. Warm air and stubble against my neck.   
  
”You always matter.”  
  
It’s the meds. The weariness. That’s why I give in. Because his chest, his arms force me to. Not actively, they just are. Makes me remember.  
  
The nervous hug on our third date. Not quite sure why we waited so long before hugging for the first time, since we both loved to cuddle, but we did. He took the initiative and I fucking melted. I felt… safe.  Feel safe now. No, I’ve not forgiven him! I’m just too tired to be angry.  
  
My husband’s arms are my sanctuary. Have been for so long now, my body remembers. The memories are forcing me. Memories of lazy weekend mornings in our bed, him spooning me, planting kisses on my hair. _You wanna cuddle?_ Non of us wanting to get downstairs to make breakfast or start the day. _Can’t we just stay here all day, hon?_ His warm body feeling so good against mine and his hands, his mouth making me feel pretty and wanted. Loved. The way he kisses the sensitive spot in my neck, rubs his nosetip against my head…  
  
I’m so tired of crying. So god damn fucking tired of not being me, not feeling like the person I used to be. The one who married this increadible man. Who didn’t cry, flinch, puke or shut him out. I sigh and Billy nuzzles my hair.  
  
”I miss you so much at home.”  
  
Miss it too. My husband, our home, our bed and my own. Miss our garden, our kitchen… Miss normality. All things before that asshole Woodes and his fucking bitches. I feel Billy suddenly stiffen behind me. His arms going tense. When he speaks, his voice sounds like a strangers, thick and strained.  
  
”What did you say?”  
  
Did I say something?   
  
”Ned? Darling… What did you just say?”  
  
No. No, no, no, no... I didn’t? Did I?! All warmth suddenly leaves me and I start shivering. My body trembles like a leaf and sweat starts breaking out, my heart speeds up and the air hurts my lungs. The door opens and the one called Muldoon comes in. I hear Billy’s voice just before I pass out.  
  
”I think he’s having a panic attack.”


	14. Billy (3rd person)

He’s not sure how or when he leaves Ned’s side, or how Charles came to pick him up, taking his carkeys and leading him to the passanger seat. Billy’s not talking, his mouth is dry. He’s staring without seeing. Charles looks worried.  
  
”Wanna talk about it?”  
  
He shakes his head. No. No, he doesn’t want to talk about it. Can’t talk about it. He swallows.  
  
”Take me to Leyton.”  
”Leyton?”  
”Now.”  
  
Charles takes the key out and Billy tries to keep calm.  
  
”I said, take me to fucking Leyton, Chaz.”  
”Not when you look and sound like that. And not before you tell me why you’re going to your ex, ’cause you don’t know anyone else but Woodes there, right?”  
  
His fists are so tight it’s almost painful. Knuckles bloodless and throat almost robbed of air. Tongue dry and suddenly he’s feeling another tongue from the past, heated and skilled, running over his teeth. _Fuck, your ass looks good in those pants._ Billy quickly opens the door and throws up on the parking lot.  
  
His ex raped Ned. Woodes raped his husband. Woodes and two women drugged, raped and left his beloved man in the snow. The world is spinning, Billy can’t think, isn’t aware of anything but the merciless reality and his flipping stomache. He has nothing more to throw up, but his body tries anyway. Can you throw up your organs?  
  
This can’t be happening. It can’t be true, but of course it is because why else would Ned say it? The full horror of what his husband has held back, kept secret until now and when the truth was finally spoken, it came almost as if Ned wasn’t half unaware of it. _…that asshole Woodes and his fucking bitches…_ The moment he realised he’d told the horrifying secret his fragile body, his tormented mind just locked up, shut down and Billy couldn’t reach him anymore.  
  
”Billy… Come here.”  
  
Charles. Steady, safe Charles. Where was Billy when Ned needed someone to keep him… He’s crashing against Charles shoulder. What if Ned had been as strong as…  
  
”I’ve got you, Billy. Breathe. Just breathe, I’ll hold you.”  
  
Calm voice, calm strokes. Friendly hands. Tears. He looses track of time, has no idea for how long he’s leaning against the shorter man who’s muscles are swelling and… No! _No!_ It wouldn’t have helped. He knows this. Being spiked with GHB doesn’t show. You can finish a drink and not feel a thing before it’s too late. And the drug is known to give men more lasting erections.  
  
”You… you have to… Give me they keys, Chaz! That fucking piece of shit… I’m gonna _kill him!_ ”  
  
Screaming doesn’t help. Doesn’t feel good either, but it releases just enough pressure from his chest to keep breathing.  
  
Charles is there. Charles is the one keeping things together now for him, because Billy is falling to fucking pieces and Ned… The call from the hospital, Billy’d come rushing in without a jacket, shoes barely tied and the nurses saying he had to stay calm… Calm, not to wake up Ned and then they’d allowed him inside the room and the bed where his husband was laying on his side, making the last effort to undo the truth vanish like a dream.  
  
Billy’s screaming. An animalistic, raw sound that would send chills through his own body was he aware of it. A person he once laughed, exchanged flirty smiles and had dinner with, raped his darling, His husband. Together with two women. They waited until they had a chance. When Ned’s friends didn’t look. They took their time waiting for the right moment to lure him away from his beer. Easily happened because Ned’s a social, friendly guy who’s easy to talk to. Smooth, funny, including and close to laughter. Was he laughing with them when he had that drink? Did he feel safe? Comfortable? Had the concert been good? Ned had really looked forward to…  
  
”Billy, darling, come here.”  
  
When Charles calls him darling, it’s usually to get Billy’s attention. It works this time too and they’re sitting on the parking lot, not caring who could see the scene in all it’s nakedness. Charles just holds him, hard and firm while Billy’s crying his eyes out, feeling no release what so ever.


	15. Ned (3rd person)

Before Billy, he never felt pretty. Never felt beautiful. A bit attractive, perhaps, but only in a meaning that could be translated to fuckable. Interesting, despite his looks. Despite the small frame, virtual eye and corky accent. Despite the theatre, despite his clothes… The only time Ned Low has ever liked the mirror, has been when he rehersed and warmed up before the lessons. Maw had given him grandmaw’s old wardrobe with mirrors on the doors, the one dad didn’t want to have and so Ned had asked for it. Begged for it, actually, because it would be so useful for his theatre exercises. Phelan Low called him a piteog and _rawny_ , declaring with a smug grin that should he have that mirror, he had to cut his hair.  
  
Dad didn’t, of course, expect him to do that, but Ned really wanted that wardrobe and hair grows back. The next day after school, he got a haircut and the old bastard had to give him the wardrobe. Ned’s maw and sister’s had a hard time to restrain their amusement when they saw Phelan’s surprised – and quite disappointed – look. The wardrobe fitted well in the corner next to the window and became a useful tool for the theatre.  
  
A victory, in every way. A beautiful furniture, some much needed help for his excercises and Ned’s hair grew like weed. The only thing that bothered him, was to see himself so much. He started to cover the mirror before changing or undressing to get to bed. Phelan, with his swelling muscles, used to grab Ned’s arms or put a hard palm on his shoulder, making comments about what happened when boys did useless, girly _piteog shite_ instead of sports. And Ned swallowed the comments, because he loved the theatre, loved the mirror and didn’t want another haircut. But he knew he was ugly.  
  
Well, maybe not exactly ugly, but definately not a first hand choice for anyone. Or second or third for that matter. The moment he exchanged pics with Billy on the e-mail, Ned had cursed, literally let out a _bloody hell_ loud enough to raise attention from the other people in the coffee shop where he had his break and looked through his messages. Billy Manderly had not been exaggerating when he said he was a bit of a sport’s freak and Ned just stared at the screen, feeling panicked because this was going to hell before it even started.  
  
He’d waited the entire day to send a pic of himself, feeling more and more silly, more and more ugly the longer he waited and then he finally sent one he didn’t actually hate, that showed him in profile with hair loose, bare shoulders and a corky smile. I was a summers picture from Wacken Open Air that Ben had taken just after Behemoth’s show. Ned had sent it before he had a chance to regret it and then hoped the file would somehow not be able to open. He’d waited with throbbing pulse, just thinking about how Billy would need to find excuses that didn’t come off as mean, because Billy was a truly nice guy and, just so sweet and… then the phone rang.  
  
To not answer two minutes after sending Billy a pic, would just be avoiding and easily discovered, so Ned took the phone and prepared to get nicely dumped. And then he heard a breathy, nervous ”this may come off weird, but I just have to say you’re gorgeous”.  
  
It was the tone, the clear nervousness in Billy’s voice, the audible swallows and almost stutter as he in his blunt, adorable way declared that Ned was gorgeous. With any other man, Ned would’ve been suspicious, aksing himself what this guy was really out to get from him, but not with him. And when Ned saw himself in the mirror later that day, while doing his exercises, the man didn’t look tense or self-conscious. He was blushing and a little smile played in the corner of his mouth. He didn’t feel gorgeous or even pretty, but the hollow feeling of being the one who should be grateful, seemed to have been erased with that call.  
  
Before Billy. Before Billy’s ex and the women.  
  
The meds must be working. Otherwise he wouldn’t be able to think about this without freaking out. Right? His mind is surprisingly clear, it’s just his feelings, the raging feelings that seem to have shut down.  
  
”Ned? Sweetheart…”  
  
He has his eyes closed. Funny, how he always think of them as two, when only one is functioning. Billy’s voice sounds empty. Exhausted, but not hollow. Ned looks up.  
  
”I’m sorry I left earlier. I…”  
  
HIs husband’s been crying, and not little. His eyes are all red and he’s pale. He takes Ned’s hand.  
  
”Can I hold you?”  
  
For once, the meds seem to help for real. Ned can’t take the distance, he doesn’t know why, there’s just this need to decrease the distance. He can’t stand seeing Billy so sad without being able to comfort him. His own feelings have taken a break and he’s watching, living the scene so strangely untouched. He reaches out with both arms.  
  
Behind closed eyes the memories keep coming. But not painful ones. Ned feels how Billy lifts him, how strong and gentle those arms are, how easily his husband can just scoop him up from the bed and onto his lap, arms swirled around him like a safe nest. This act wakes up precious memories from happier times. Their first summer after the wedding, when Billy and Charles got into a tipsy argument on a beach party about who would win a fight and Eleanor had declared that if they wanted to really test their strenght, they’d have to do it by carrying around her and Ned on their shoulders.  
  
Their other friends had, of course, thought it was a grand idea and so, Ned and Elle had climbed onto Billy’s and Charles’ shoulders. And Billy didn’t give two shits about other people staring.  
  
He’d felt so light. Not weak, small or anything, but light. Ned had been wearing nothing but a pair of black jeans shorts, kneelong, and Billy was… well, just damn gorgeous in his darkblue swim trunks, body all tanned and warm. Ben, Max and James absolutely refused to take part, carrying Jacob, Idelle and John around, so instead, they started betting.  
  
It was so silly, but he loved it. Loved the easiness in Billy’s steps, the way he held Ned’s legs and insisted on a beach volley match between them and Elle, that traitor, had been all for it. So they’d engaged in a tipsy, wingly game and when Billy managed to punch the ball too far and went to fetch it, Ned still on his shoulders, the ball had landed on a gathering of old bikers. Ned had gotten tense, but Billy just went straight ahead, apologiesed and asked for the ball, smiling. One of the bikers, grey beard and a bandana, had the ball and he nodded at them. _Are you fags or something?_      
  
Billy had smiled. Ned couldn’t see it, but he heard the moment Billy answered. _And happily married since nine months. The baby should be coming any day._  
  
For the split of a second, Ned had been sure this would end badly, but then, the biker bursted out in a warm laughter, shaking his head. He’d handed the ball over, little laugh wrinkles around his eyes. _That should be one lucky kid, with goodlooking dads like you._  
  
Still laughing, the man had returned to his friends and Billy’d walked back to the volley net. They started playing again for a while, until Charles declared himself defeated and ran into the water with Elle still on his shoulders. Billy, knowing Ned wasn’t too keen on bathing without taking the prostethic out first or use goggles, walked with him to their bags, lowered and fished up the goggles and then, when Ned had put them on, ran down the water.  
  
It’s such a silly memory, all the sunwarm skin tangled together in the water. Billy lifting him, a firm arm under his ass and Ned had swirled his legs around his waiste, not weak but light, so very light and crazy in love. Billy’d rested his forehead against Ned’s stomach, brushing lips over the wet skin and nuzzling him. _How did I ever get to be this happy…?_  
  
The memory fades and he’s back in the naked hospital room. There’s no soothing water, no warming sun, no light laughter or sweet words. But the arms are the same. And the reddish eyes don’t turn away. Billy’s sitting on the armchair, with Ned on his lap, Ned’s legs over the armrest and Billy’s knees pulled up and a blanket tucked around them both. The hands are stroking Ned’s arms over the blanket, the nose is breathing in his hair and the arms, the ridiculously big arms, form a cradle around his tiny frame.  
  
Billy’s not talking, he’s singing. Or humming, very quietly in Ned’s hair.  
  
”Now that the wind called my name, and my star had faded now hardly a glimpse up in the empty space. And the wise one-eyed great father, in the sky stilled my flame. For the ones who stood me near, and you few who were me dear, I ask of thee to have no doubts and no fears…”  
  
_He knows the lyrics…_ Ned’s the one crying now, but not the exhausting, heart-wrenching kind. It’s quiet and calm. And Billy keeps humming.  
  
”And now you all who might hear my song, brought to you by the northern wind have no fear though the night may seem so everlasting and forever dark. There will come a golden dawn, at ends of nights for all yee on whom upon the northstar always shines…”  
  
His husband’s singing _Hammerheart_ to him and the low humming shuts off the gruesome reality, bringing back a glimpse of the life before that dreadful night, one that was light and easy.  
  
”The vast gates to hall up high, shall stand open wide and welcome you with all its within. And Oden shall hail us bearers of a pounding Hammerheart.”    
   
They’re not there. They’re miles and miles away. An eternity lies between the life they chose and the one they didn’t choose, the one that brought them here. But for the first time since that night, the veil has been removed and as ugly as the truth is, Billy’s not finding _him_ ugly. He’s not all alone with it anymore. And somehow the world is not shattered to pieces.


	16. Billy (1st person)

Why do I feel like I’m letting everyone down? I must leave Ned for a little while, can’t give Fiona the information I know she wants, can’t be a smiling uncle to my nephew who knows something’s not alright with his other uncle. My mother-in-law is pissed, my dad is worried and my friends think I’m about to commit murder. They couldn’t be more wrong.  
  
I know Ned said he didn’t need it, I know that anything feeling like an intrusion or overruling now is wrong and no, my husband’s not a child or crazy but I know what I saw when we visited James’ friends. He’s not coming with me this time.  
  
I called first, of course, and Miranda Hamilton answered. Maybe she heard I was desperate, because even though she had an appointment, she left the phone to talk to her husband and a couple of minutes later, she was back, saying I could come. It’s not as I’m gonna drive away with a dog after this meeting, of course not, but I still feel like I’m letting Ned down. He’s not given me permission, but when he’s been clear in thought, he’s not rejected the idea completely. I’m grasping at straws now, every single one I see. This one has four paws, a wriggling tail and a wet nose. When I park on their yard, I’m actually shaking and have to take a moment before I can leave the car. Maybe I’m the one in need of a service dog?  
  
Miranda, or Randy, as she prefer, meets me with a gentle smile. That kind of smile some people just seem to get perfect. Not happy, but not depressing either.  
  
”Hello, Billy. Welcome!”  
  
We shake hands and I try to make my voice steady.  
  
”Thank you for letting me come on such short notice.”  
”No problem. Come, let us have some tea first, shall we? Thomas put the kettle on the minute we hung up. You want to say hello to Mary Read again?”  
  
This dog is not like anyone else I’ve met. She’s so calm and unobtrusive, trained not to appear frightening and just like Ned I’m not really a dog’s person, but Mary Read is different. I sink down on my heels and she greets me after permission from her owner. She’s clearly sensing I’m not alright and shows it by looking at her owner. Randy taps a little on her thigh.  
  
”Come here, girl.”  
  
Mary Read immediately returns to her side and gets a reassuring pat. Randy smiles.  
  
”She’s trained to reckognize anxiety even at quite low levels. Come inside.”  
  
Randy moves with a kind of elegance I didn’t notice the first time I was here. She’s simply dressed in tight jeans in hardwearing fabrics, a pair of muddy boots and the vest over her striped cotton blouse. She has her hair like the first time, in a bun, and that kind of rosy look people who spend most time outdoors gets. I follow her and Mary Read that walks by her like a silent shadow.  
  
The hallway is a bit messy and so is the homey kitchen. Thomas Hamilton looks, and I’m not kidding, like he’s not done a single bad thing in his entire life. The bright face, the blue eyes and the gentle smile show nothing but kindness and an oddly innocense I’d usually feel uncomfortable with, but not with this guy. His handshake is warm and friendly and I start fucking crying.  
  
They’re working with ptsd patients, it’s not as if this is a strange thing in their work, but I still hate it. Randy shows me to a chair by the table and hands me a package of tissues, while Thomas pours tea in three cups. Considering the kind of people they work with, they’re very lively people. Not physically, but their eyes are practically sparkling, even when they’re calm and serious. As if they just can’t stop themselves from… living.  
  
The tea is hot and rich. Ned would like it, and my hand shakes a little, making the porcelain clatter. The dog, how ever, lays calm on the floor, without reacting. She knows I’m not someone she’s supposed to tend to. I put my cup down.  
  
”I’m… sorry about last time.”  
”Why?”  
  
Thomas looks genuinly suprised and so does his wife. I swallow.  
  
”Was afraid we’d come off as… I don’t know, uncooperative.”  
  
Or rude. Thomas just shakes his head.  
  
”The people we meet in the job, Billy, are people with severe problems caused by different traumas. The tolerated behaviour spectrum is quite wide here for good reasons.”  
”I just… I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing. Ned said no, but I know, or I _think_ I know this could help him. I know I might look like I’m going behind his back, but I’m not trying to… I don’t know how to…”  
  
Randy moves her chair closer to me and takes my hand.  
  
”We understand, Billy. Truly. You’re certainly not the only family member who’s called us even when their spouse, parent, child or sibling refused help. A lot of them feel guilty for, as you say, going behind their loved one’s back, but this is not about betrayal.”  
  
Thomas nods.  
  
”We’re breeding and raising service dogs, but we’ve both worked in the psychiatry for about ten years before we started this company. Randy is a psychiatrist and I’m a psychologist. We’ve worked with trauma patients in different areas for… how long is it now…?”  
”Sixteen years this summer.”  
  
The couple is, weirdly, the most relaxed company I’ve had since the assault on Ned. Their calm and kindness doesn’t seem acted or exaggerated in the least. While telling more about themselves and their work, it soon becomes clear that there’s not much they’ve not witnessed when it comes to shit people are forced to live with. I can’t stop myself from asking how they can stand it all, feeling rude for asking, but Thomas just smiles.  
  
”Funny. I remember when James asked me the same thing.”  
”How, if it’s not too personal to ask, did you meet?”  
”Not at all. We met when I was holding a weekend class in ptsd for the British Navy and his then fiancé, who was a marine and took the class, brought James with her to a dinner for the participants and their significant others.”  
  
Randy giggles. Yes, giggles, and shakes her head. Thomas is blushing but doesn’t seem the least embarressed.  
  
”Long story short, I fell in love on spot.”  
  
I almost choke on my tea and Randy’s smile widens.  
  
”It was beautiful to watch.”  
”You… you were there?”  
”Of course. Thomas was in awe and James looked like a lost puppy. He still does sometimes.”  
  
I put my cup down.  
  
”So… you’re… You and James are…?”  
”We’re in a relationship, yes.”  
”But... John? I don’t understand…”  
  
Thomas eyes are very calm, very kind.  
  
”I can see James didn’t tell you, which I’m not really surprised about. He usually leaves that to us if possible. I’m married to Randy, James is married to John and I have a relationship with James. John knew about this when they started dating.”  
”He’s a darling. Extremely annoying, very good for James and we love him dearly. More tea?”  
  
Randy refills my cup without wating for an answer and suddenly, I laugh. Thomas joins in and soon they’re laughing all three, Randy shaking her head.  
  
”I’m not sure we’re making a very professional appearence right now, but this is a slightly different situation. Usually, people need to go through the health care system and there’s quite some waiting time, but since we’re a private business, we can make certain exceptions.”  
  
She gets serious again and takes my hand.  
  
”Getting the right help when it comes to mental problems, is often much harder than with somatic diagnoses, for a lot of reasons. We generally don’t make exceptions, since we think it’s important that money or positions could buy better care when those without these advantages have just as severe problems.”  
”Then… why the exception?”  
  
Thomas sighs.  
  
”We’re doing that when we know a client most likely will get less help than another person in their situation, because of their rase, birth country, gender, age or sexual orientation. The society very often has narrow ideas on what kind of people getting subjected to, for example, sexual assults. When James called us about your husband, we knew right away that he was a potential client.”  
”Because he’s a man?”  
”Man, middleaged, gay.”  
”And ace. Asexual.”  
  
There. I’ve said it. Don’t know why, it’s not really their business and maybe it’s irrelevant in their work but I don’t care. Non of them looks the least surprised and Thomas scratches the dog on the head. I almost forgot about her. Thomas looks at me.  
  
”Every relationship is different. Every _person_ is different. The problem with humanity is that we generally don’t like change. I say this a lot to people, especially when I meet globetrotters or extremely social and extrovert persons. We often want to see us as openminded, free thinkers who can break our prejudices by facing new people, new places, new experiences. But it’s not that simple.”  
  
He keeps petting the dog.  
  
”When it comes to the things that cause us pain, especially traumas, our mind tends to seek for the answer that allows us to shut down and not think about it. By telling ourselves that only a certain type can be a victim of a certain crime, we’re able to protect ourselves from a lot of unpleasant feelings. Frankly spoken, if the society have decided that a thirtythree years old man can’t be a victim of sexual assault in the same way a fifteen years old girl or thirty years old woman, then the options to get acknowledge and right support, will be significant fewer.”  
  
Randy puts her cup down.  
  
”This does, of course, not only apply on men. The society has a nasty view on who’s a real victim. With girls and women, the questioning and accusations can go on even if the victim was knocked out in her backyard in broad daylight. The amount of guilt and shame some people are ready to lay on victims of rape if often the biggest obstacle our clients are facing, regardless of gender or age.”  
  
Thomas nods.  
  
”We’re telling you this, not to bring up thoughts and memories that makes you feel exposed or uncomfortable, but to assure you that in our work, we try to have as little prejudices based on sex, race, gender identity, sexual oriention and age as possible. It’s a difficult pattern to break, but we believe that one of the major causes that so many victims of sexual abuse don’t get the right help, is due to these kinds of prejudices.”  
  
I just nod. I really don’t have anything to add. The dog yawns and I feel strangely calm. I don’t have to explain anything, it’s Thomas and Randy who’re doing the explanation. Thomas hands me another tissue.  
  
”Sometimes when a client hasn’t decided wheather he or she really wants this or can’t come and visit, we make a little video of one of our available dogs, as a little peak. Ned has, of course, already met Mary, but maybe it would be a good idea anyway?”  
  
A video? Of me and this – and I can’t believe I’m thinking this – wonderful dog who I just know would be perfect for my stubborn husband? Yeah, why not? I’ve already went behind his back because I love him too much to see him wither, and I also know I’d been committing a far worse crime now should I’ve not been introduced to this couple some weeks ago. Had Charles not come to meet me yesterday, had he not practically threatened to call the cops if I didn’t come with him. Had Elle not found the business card, had she not called John to ask when I didn’t want to answer. Had John not told James. Had James not called Miranda. Had I not have the friends I have… If not, I know I could very possbly have done an irreparable mistake. One my rational mind knows wouldn’t fix a shit, only make it worse.  
  
I’m petting, talking to and playing with Mary Read for the camera. I don’t talk to her like some people talk to animals as if they were little babies. This is not a pet dog and my husband is not a petulant child. And thanks to our friends, I’m not yet a murderer.


	17. Ned (1st person)

”They’re still here?”  
”Uh-huh. Think Fiona is taking Liam swimming.”  
”She’s mad at me?”  
”No.”  
  
He strokes my hair gently.  
  
”No one’s mad at you, hon.”  
”I’m not exactly… easy to be around now…”  
”It’s not you fault. Not one bit.”  
”But ye admit I’m a pain in the ass, right?”  
  
My husband, who’s too good for this world, just shakes his head.  
  
”The ptsd is what’s a pain the ass, not you.”  
  
He’s a bit tense, I can almost hear him thinking despite the cloud of meds in my system.  
  
”What’s wrong?”  
”I… I know you may not be okay with this, but…”  
  
Lucky for him, for both of us, I’m too whacked to work myself up to anything even close to anger. I’ve not yet forgiven him for bringing my sister here –alright, maybe I’m not quite as mad as earler – but I just sigh.  
  
”Spit it out… Ye called maw? Is she walking through that door with half of me relatives at any moment?”  
”No.”  
”Thanks.”  
  
Talking makes me tired and I close my eyes, feeling Billy’s fingers in my hair.  
  
”I… I went back to the Hamilton’s again. You know, the dog people.”  
  
He sounds guilty and I feel like I should get angry or at least disappointed, but I simply lack the energy. I still let him pet my hair, right now I like his touch.  
  
”Well?”  
”Well what?”  
”You… you’re not pissed?”  
  
I sigh. My body feels so heavy.  
  
”Don’t know yet… And I’m too bloody bate to get anything now, so here’s yer chance…”  
  
He’s sitting on a stool, one hand and his mouth in my hair. The other hand searches for mine, that looks genuinly ugly in comparison.  
  
”Do you trust me, Ned?”  
”What?”  
”Do you trust me? I’m not perfect and I know I fuck up sometimes, even badly, but do you trust that I’d never ever do anything I thought would harm you?”  
”Of course I do. What’s all this ’bout, muppet? Ye got me a watch dog, or what?”  
”No, but I signed you up for one.”  
”Ye what?”  
  
Yeah, it’s a damn fucking luck I’m so whacked I can’t even find any anger in all this muddy cloud my head’s filled with right now. And that my husband has the worst puppy dog eyes in England when he really wants something. Combined with the meds, I stand no chance, but even if I can’t feel anything, I know I’d be mad as hell if I could. Now I must be content with a sigh.  
  
”Go on…”  
”After you… when I left, Chaz picked me up. And then he called John.”  
”Who called the ginger who then called his puppy breeders? Aye, I get it…”  
”I met with them. Alone.”  
  
I close my eyes again. Talking wears me out.  
  
”And?”  
”We uhm… made a video. For you.”  
”A little… doggy commercial? How… sweet.”  
  
Fuck, I’m tired. Billy takes out his phone and I let him. I could say no, I know he would listen but I allow it. It’s just a little movie. Doesn’t mean I’ve agreed to anything. He puts it on and places it close to me, resting his mouth in my hair.  
  
It’s a nice dog, I guess. It’s kind of cute seeing my husband talking to her. I remember her a little. The way she walked over and just stood still against me. Not barking, jumping or nibbling.  
  
The movie is short, the couple talks a little but I’m not really listening. I want to see the sequence with Billy again.  
  
”Show me the first part... With ye and…”  
”Mary Read.”  
”Whatever.”  
  
He replays the same sequence to me, again and again, while talking about the place, the owners. That they’re close friends with James and John, not just acquaintances. That they’re working with all sorts of people. Men, women, children.  
  
“They try to take clients they know are… uhm… not likely to seek help or face prejudices.”  
  
Like men, gays and ace people. Yeah, I get it. Any other label while we’re on? One-eyed leprechaun, perhaps?  
  
”Ned?”  
”What?”  
”If you absolutely forbid this, if you’re really certain you would feel worse even giving it a go, that you’d hate to have a dog, then I promise I’ll never speak of this again.”  
  
Not the eyes. It’s not fair.  
  
”But if you think you could try it, just try before you turn it down…”  
”Ye’re manipulating me…”  
”Definately. And…”  
”What?”  
”You know how much you hate people petting strange dogs without asking the owner first?”  
”Yeah?”  
”This dog here, she’s trained to not take a step unless you tell her to, even if someone else call for her.”  
”Why are ye talking like she’s mine?”  
”Because I think that, if you gave this a go, she’d truly be yours. Not like any dog, but like… just for you.”  
  
No, he’s definately not fair now, stroking my hand softly and that kind of look in his eyes, that says he’d go to Peru and buy me a fucking llama for his last savings and then ride it back home if he thought that would make me feel better. I sigh.  
  
”No one can pet it?”  
”No one. Not even me if you don’t want to.”  
”I’m not a monster…”  
  
I love animals. My husband is not very easily smitten by them, but to have a dog at home that he’s not allowed to pet would just be cruel.  
  
”What if it doesn’t help?”  
  
I can hear I’m out of protests now and Billy hears it too. He plants a kiss on my cheek and I almost blush, because it somehow feels like ages since he did that, naturally, as if I wasn’t a wreck.  
  
”We’ll have plenty of time to see if it does, before you make the final decision.”


	18. Billy (3rd person)

”Look, Liam, it’s uncle Ned. Ye wanna say hi?”  
”Hi, uncle Ned!”  
”Hi, Liam.”  
  
Webcams. Why didn’t he think of that before? Ned is sitting in the bed, he’s had a shower and Billy’s helped him brushing his hair. Ned has his laptop against his knees and waves at his sister and nephew. They’re in the kitchen back at his and Billy’s house and Liam does the most talking. Billy tried to prepare Fiona but she looks a bit shocked. Last time she saw her brother, he was healthy and happy. Now he looks… severely ill.  
  
They stay with easy talking. Liam tells about kindergarten and shows more drawings he’s made. Ned compliments him and thanks him for the drawings Billy brought with him. But he gets tired quickly and after a while, his answers become slower and with longer pauses. Then Fiona asks if she could have five minutes alone with her brother and Billy leaves the room. He sits outside, looking at staff, patients and relatives passing by, carrying flowers, blood samples and papers.  
  
Ned will have to stay for a while longer, until he’s able to move around without having to sit down every  five meters not to fall. Until he doesn’t need this amount of meds to make it through the day.  
  
Billy should be used to see his husband like this by now, but it’s not a sight one ever gets used to. It took forever for him to shower since he, meds or not, hates to be touched by the staff and isn’t comfortable with letting Billy help him either right now. But he did it and Billy’s proud. He even let Billy help him trim the beard, which ended up with Billy accidently taking off too much on the left side and Ned sighed and said he finally knew why Billy never grew a beard himself. He wasn’t angry, rather amused, and so a surprised Fiona gets to see her brother absent beard for the first time in years.  
  
But Ned looks just like he feels. Sick and weak and it only takes a few minutes before he has to hang up, but Fiona assures him she’s just happy she could have a chat. When they hang up, Ned sighs deeply and closes the laptop with a thin hand.  
  
Billy puts the laptop aside and takes his hand. Being fed from a tube doesn’t really make you pile on the pounds and his husband is severely underweight. One major progress now though, is that they’ve put him on a med that prevents nausea, which helps a lot. Eating is still hard, impossible when he’s this tired, but the overall sense that he’s going to vomit any time, is gone. His tummy doesn’t cramp anymore and when he says he’d almost forgotten how it felt to not constantly hover between pain and nausea, no matter how mild the symptoms, Billy just wants to cry. Instead, he puts his hand on Ned’s tummy, caressing it and then pulls up the t-shirt to kiss it and tell it to be nice.  
  
Ridiculous, but he means it. Ned puts a heavy, tired hand on Billy’s nape, stroking it with his thumb, not commenting Billy’s act. His hipbones are pointy and his ribs are slightly visible. The wrists are bony and fingers are cold. Billy keeps caressing his tummy.  
  
”You be nice to my theatre monkey now, you hear me? No more wasting his food, or I’ll have to report you.”  
  
Ned makes an almost mute laughter. More of an exhausted giggle but for a moment, the old sparkling glimpse of life is back in his eye and the smile may be small and tired, but it’s genuine. It’s only there for a second, but it’s enough to make Billy’s heart flutter. Enough to keep the hope up. He plants another shallow kiss right over Ned’s bellybutton and then he folds down the shirt and pulls up the blanket again. Ned’s eyes are closed, but he’s grasping for Billy’s hand.  
  
”Stay a while…”  
  
It’s just a whisper, his husband is so tired, and Billy gently moves him further to the side to lay down beside him. He lifts Ned’s head, puts a burly arm under his neck and then pulls him close. He tucks the blanket around him and strokes the bony shoulders.  
  
”I love you.”  
  
Ned just hums in response, but it’s more than enough. The trusting closeness, the relaxation under Billy’s fingers. Strained muscles and joints, aching bones and hyper sensitive skin. All of Ned’s ill-treated, exhausted body finds a little rest in Billy’s arms now. It may not be much, may look close to nothing, but in this moment, this small sparkle of life is everything.


	19. Ned (3rd person)

Fiona isn’t a squealer, but to keep serious shit a secret to Elan Low this long is not easy and Ned’s sister looks like she’s about to explode on the chair.  
  
”Maw’s not an eejit just ’cause she can’t see what’s goin’ on, Ned. What do ye think she’d done had I not come over, huh?”  
  
Ned sighs. She’s right. He’s not been talking to his mother in a long time and things have to go pretty far for her to send a spy.  
  
”Ye talked to her?”    
”Aye. And ye know what? She cried. Haven’t seen her cry since aunt Caitlin’s funeral and that’s…”  
”Five years ago, I know. But she bawled on me wedding, so it’s more like three.”   
”Five, three or bloody ten, that aint the point, Ned!”  
  
He’s missed her, he realises. Even when she’s scolding at him, eyes practically shooting lightenings.  
  
”Are ye just here to yell or what?”  
”No.”  
”Then lower yer voice, ’cause otherwise they’ll throw ye out like in church.”  
”Pity da’s not here to see it, then.”  
  
Her trembling lip bends to half a smile and Ned smiles too, but there are not happy smiles. The number of times Fiona Low couldn’t sit still during mass and ended up being sent out to the cloakroom and later got a hiding with the clothing brush from Phelan are still not half as many times as the man used his belt on Ned for things such as too long hair, backtalking and ”bad attitude”, but they’re no less painful. Phelan stopped using the belt and brush when they turned fifteen, at least when he was sober. Spiteful words did the trick too. Ned reaches his hand out.  
  
”C’mere, Fi…”  
  
Her hug is warm and hard.  
  
”Fucking hell, Ned… Ye’re just skin and bones!”  
”Thanks for telling. Had no idea.”  
”No, I bet that giant angel ye’re married to, is too nice to tell ye.”  
  
Ned makes a small laughter. This is such a Fiona way to comfort. The harshness covering a heart big enough for the whole Low clan, inlaws included.  
  
”Billy’s a terrible liar, Fi.”  
”No shit? I knew something wasn’t right when he made excuses.”  
”Don’t be mad at him. I forbid him to tell.”  
”Aye, we realised that. All he told me was that ye’d been assaulted and left in fucking snow. No details, no names, no fucking nothing!”  
”I asked him not to.”  
  
She’s teary and tired and a part of Ned wishes he could tell. He can lie to his parents, to Rose and Dylan. He can lie to Ben, Jacob and Idelle but Fiona… She’s been his closest confidant in the world before Billy and even though Ned’s always been the silent type about personal things, Fiona is the one family member he really feel close to. In his own way, but still.   
  
”I… Please, don’t take it personal, Fi. Had I not… ended up in hospital I don’t think I’d told Billy either…”  
  
Fiona startles and then all colour leaves her face and Ned realises he’s said too much while trying to not say anything and still say something.   
  
”Oh, God…”  
”Fi, please…”  
”Fuck… fuck, fuck, _fuck_ …”      
  
She suddenly looks like a kicked puppy and Ned can’t stand that. Not now. Not with her.   
  
”Fi… I don’t want to talk about it. I can’t, so don’t ask.”  
”Who the fuck…”  
” _Please!_ Sis, please, please… _I can’t!_ ”  
  
She sits on the bed and leans down to hug him. For some reason it doesn’t feel like an intrusion. Fiona is his sister. His big sister who’s afraid of nothing and no one. Tough as nails with sharp elbows and she takes shit from no one.   
  
”I’ll tell maw ye… caught something ’cause of… weak immune system from the pneumonia. ’Kay?”  
  
Fiona Low in a nutshell. Putting herself together like flipping a coin if necessairy. Ned doesn’t know if he should be panicking for her knowing or relieved for her not pressing him for details.   
  
”Promise ye don’t yell at Billy.”  
”Why would I?”  
  
Ned just snorts and wipes away some tears from Fiona’s cheek.  
  
”I know ye, sis. By the way, thanks.”  
”For what?”  
”Comin’ by. How long are ye planning on stayin’?”  
”Don’t know. Depends on when me brother-in-law get tired of us, I guess. I mean, I’m a stay at home maw right now and it’s not as if I have to hurry back.”  
  
Ned smiles. He hears the plea.   
  
”I think Billy’d welcome yer company. Will ye do me a favour?”  
”Anything I can.”  
”Before ye head back to our place, buy some nice wine, something ye know ye and Billy really like and tonight, ye order take-away. And I know ye’re low on money, so I order ye to take from me cash jar on me room. It’s in the bookshelf.”  
”No way. I can pay for me own food.”  
”Aye, but I want to pay. And I’ll call Billy when ye leave to make sure ye don’t _’forget’_ to mention it.”  
”Basterd.”  
”Cunt.”  
”Fag.”  
”Slag. Now, get the fuck outta here, Fi.”  
  
They both smile. Insults are a vital part of their way to tell they care and creates enough distance from the reason Fiona’s here to keep too much emotions on distance. None of them have actually put words on it and Ned’s ever grateful his sister understands more questions wont be welcome. There are only so many unpleasant feelings the meds can prevent and Ned will need more of them to forget this conversation.


	20. Billy (1st person)

”Ye’d be a great da, ye know.”  
  
I laugh. Ned’s sister, now sitting on our back porch, smoking and sipping on some wine, deserves some kind of medal right now. Haven’t felt this… normal in I don’t know how long. A part of me feels a bit guilty for laughing, drinking fine wine and having sushi from the best place in town, but it was on my husband’s orders and it’s hard to resist both him and his sister. I take my glass and make Fiona company and when she offers a smoke, I accept and she grins. I roll my eyes.  
  
”Don’t tell Ned, or I’ll never hear the end of it.”  
”Promise. How did ye made’im quit the fags?”  
”I didn’t. That was entirely his decision.”  
”Wow.”  
  
Fiona looks genuinly impressed.  
  
”Then ye’ve succeeded in something I thought was impossible.”  
”What?”  
”Makin’ me stubborn brother do something not even maw could make’im to.”  
  
I blow out a cloud.  
  
”Guess that depends on what arguments you use.”  
”And yours were?”  
”I just used my famous puppy eyes.”  
  
To show her, I pretend she’s Ned and turn to her, with my ridiculous puppy eyes, known to make my husband melt on spot. Fiona just laughs.   
  
”Jesus Christ, Billy! With those eyes ye could probably get away with murder. What an evil weapon! Me poor brother only has one and it’s just wicked.”  
”Not when he looks at me it isn’t. But yeah, I admit, it’s not fair to use the puppy eyes. In my defense, I only use them when it’s absolutely necessairy. Never said a word to him about quitting smoking though.”  
  
That’s true. I just turned my puppy eyes on him one time when he accidently burned me with the fag. In fact, that was entirely my own fault, ’cause I scared him by walking too quiet from behind and put my arms around him when was smoking. It’s a very sweet memory because he was so silly about it and the next day, he decided to stop. I didn’t say a word about it, but I rewarded him by being extremely patient with his mood swings before he was over the worst part. He started again after the assault and I wouldn’t dream of fault him for it. Just bought him nicotine patches since he couldn’t smoke while in hospital and he’s been on and off since then, depending on the mood.  
  
”As I said, ye’d be a great da. Makin’ yer kids obey with a look.”  
”Making Ned melt and a kid obey isn’t exactly the same thing.”  
”Ye don’t want kids?”  
  
I shrug.  
  
”To be honest I’ve not thought much about it. I like kids though.”  
”Ned too. He looked after Rose quite much when they were kids.”  
”Yeah, he told me that.”  
  
Ned is great with kids. Sweetest uncle there is. Imagining him with baby is not hard. And extremely cute. Can totally see it… My little husband with a bundle in his arms, singing some silly, Irish lullaby and recite Moliére to it, completely ignoring the kid doesn’t understand a shit. Can see him rock it, make funny faces and buy babygrows with metal band prints on…  
  
”Oi! Ye’re still here?”  
”What?”  
  
I look up and Fiona grins.  
  
”Ye got lost in baby land?”  
  
I smile but it feels as if I’m trying to hold back tears.  
  
”Not really the right time to think of such things.”  
”Is it ever?”  
  
I shrug. It’s not a topic I’d like to discuss now, but the image of my husband carrying around a baby is addictive and a very effective shield against reality right now. I’ve seen him with infants as well as older kids lots of times and he’s a natural. And I’d be constantly worried for something to happen to our son or daughter, Ned would call me a muppet and tease me by talking about when to take our kid to a black metal concert for the first time…   
  
I can see us decorate the nursery, maybe put up another wall upstairs to keep our separete rooms and fight over who’s to take the first parental leave… And then Ned will refuse to dress our baby in light blue because he hates that colour and when it gets older, I’ll worry sick if it starts running on our backyard and tries to eat the flowers because kids just put any shit in their mouths on a certain age. We will be the preschool teachers nightmare for questioning everything and when our son or daughter gets like four, he or she will tell people that one of her daddies can take out his eye and the other one can lift his or her other daddy with one arm and him or her on the other. We may also be two of the few parents who’s kids will never walk in on them during sex.  
  
”Hey…C’mere, Billy.”  
  
Yeah, apparently I’m crying. Kind of a daily thing now, I hardly even notice it.   
  
”He’ll be home soon, hon. He’ll get well, he’ll be himself again…”  
  
She sounds so certain of it, I almost believe her.   
  
”Ye need a hand in the garden tomorrow?”  
”Uhm… You really don’t need to…”  
”C’mon, Billy. Ye know I need to keep myself occupied. And perhaps Ned’s too tired for a long visit tomorrow.”  
  
Probably. God, I miss my husband so much. I pick up my phone.   
  
”I just… Gotta call him and say goodnight.”  
”Give’im a kiss from me.”  
  
I go back upstairs and dial the number. Maybe he’s already asleep. A sleepish voice answers.  
  
”Muppet…”  
”Hey, babe. Did I wake you?”  
”Aye.”  
”Sorry.”  
”Don’t be. Glad ye called… Everything alright?”  
”Yeah. We had sushi and wine. As you commanded.”  
  
I can almost hear him smile and I press back a whimper, trying to get loose.  
  
”Don’t cry, muppet. Ye’ll just get headache.”  
”How come you always know what I’m about to do just by hearing my voice?”  
”Cause I know ye. There’s a packet of tissues on me nightstand…”  
”How did you… Never mind.”  
  
I crawl over to his side and find the tissues next to a book and a glass of water. I lay down on his pillow, dries my eyes and hear him hum a little.  
  
”Wish I… could sleep in yer arms t’night.”  
  
That’s it. I’m a human waterfall right now and my sick husband comforts me, high on meds in the other end of the line.  
  
”I’ll be home soon, babe… I’ll get better and I’ll come home. Gonna sleep in _our_ bed again, right?”  
”Yeah. Sorry I bawl like this.”  
”Don’t be sorry. One dog for a sad bastard is enough.”  
”You mean…?”  
”Aye, I’ll try it. But only if ye don’t get too… excited ’bout it.”  
  
I’m almost imploding from relief, but keep my feelings in control.  
  
”I promise I’ll keep myself in check.”  
”Good boy.”  
”Hey!”  
  
The low, sweet chuckle. I can hear he’s exhausted, we’ve spoken for too long and he needs to sleep. I wipe my eyes again.  
  
”You need to rest now, babe. And don’t worry about me. I’m alright. And you sound quite tired.”  
”Gonna fall asleep soon… I think…”  
  
A kittenish yawn and we say goodnight and hang up. I seem unable to stop crying. 


	21. Ned (1st person)

”At least try, Edward. It’s important for your recovery to not give up. Give it a go.”  
”I don’t eat ham. Or milk.”  
”Are you a vegetarian?”  
”No. I just don’t eat ham or milk.”  
”Well, this is what we can offer.”  
  
I hate this nurse. Or nurse’s assistant. She’s at least fifteen years older than me and extremely patronising. Not that her age has to have anything to do with that, there are more staff here who treat their patients like kids. And I’ve never liked milk, especially not when warmed up by porridge. Ham is disgusting too, even under the best circumstances and this is not one of them. The nurse looks at me like I’m a petulant child.  
  
”You’ve not had any solid food for almost a week now and…”  
  
Thanks. Now I’m crying. God, I hate this constant bawling. I want to eat, but I can hardly keep juice and crackers down. Eating full fat milk on porridge and half melted butter would only end up in prayers to the porcelin gods.  
  
”What’s the problem here?”  
  
Another nurse, younger. Don’t reckognize her either.  
  
”He wont try his breakfast.”  
  
The younger one frowns and takes a look at the tray.  
  
”Who ordered this?”  
”I did. He’s been on liquid diet for a long time now.”  
”For good reasons, Trudy. Take this back to the kitchen and bring an Ensure Clear Blueberry.”  
  
The older nurse looks like she’s about to protest, but then she takes the tray and leaves. The younger one, Hannah according to her name plate, hands me tissues.  
  
”The important thing right now, Ned, is that you eat _something_ , even if it’s only liquids. And you definately don’t have to eat ham and milk. How’s your stomach today?”  
”Tiny.”  
  
I’ve kept a hand over it ever since that tray was placed before me. It’s really tiny. Outside and inside. Loosing twenty pounds was a terrible idea, not that it was mine. The older nurse returns with a drink. Hopefully that will be easier to swallow. She puts the straw in it and hands it over. I take a sip, wouldn’t call it tasty but it’s way better than porridge and ham. I also take the pills, still crying and I wish she would stop staring at me.  
  
”Your friend called earlier. He said you didn’t pick up your phone and that he’ll be over with your sister and nephew around eleven if you think you can manage.”  
  
Friend? I get confused. Genuinly confused. Why would Jacob or Ben… Oh. I put away the drink.  
  
”Ye’re referring to Billy Manderly?”  
”Yes, that’s right.”  
”He’s not me friend, he’s me husband. Don’t ye keep some kind of records on regular visitors here?”  
  
When did I get this easily irritated? Suddenly I want to watch that dog video again. Dogs are pretty stupid and annoying sometimes, but at least they’re not humans. Hannah nods at the door to her older collegue and she leaves, rolling her eyes. I’m not fucking blind on both eyes, I see it. When she’s left, Hannah sits down.  
  
”How did you sleep this night?”  
”Good, I think. No nightmares.”  
”No wake-ups?”  
  
I shake my head. I’ve actually slept pretty well here. Hannah smiles. It’s a friendly smile.  
  
”Good. Dr. Howell said you’ve been offered a service dog.”  
”Billy insisted. Don’t know what difference it would make, though.”  
”With the right dog it could do a lot of difference. Very often, just the precense of the dog could prevent anxiety or panic. Makes it a lot easier to live a more normal life after a trauma.”  
”Don’t want to need a dog.”  
  
Hannah pulls her pantleg up. A black support beam sits tightly around her left calf.  
  
”I don’t want to need this either, but I do.”  
”What happened?”  
”A wear damage when I was nineteen. Worked with heavy lifting and got injured. And then I didn’t let it heal properly, strained it far too early and far too much.”  
”I’m sorry to hear that.”  
”It was really stupid of me not listening to my body that time and now I must wear this.”  
  
I smile.  
  
”Are ye easily disgusted?”  
”I’m a _nurse_ , Ned.”  
  
I actually like this one and with a quick move, I remove my prostethic eye. She doesn’t even flinch.  
  
”That looked easier than removing a lens.”  
”Lost me real one in an accident when I was thirteen. Played with homemade arrows. Don’t ask.”  
  
I put it back in.  
  
”Ye think this dog could help?”  
”I do, yes. Of course, it’s all about the right dog for the right person, but in general I’d advice you to give it a go. Why should your life be put on hold because of what those people put you through? It’s _your_ life, Ned, not theirs.”  
  
I don’t answer, but I manage to smile. I’m tired now and she raises from the stool.  
  
”Get some rest now, before your family comes. And give that service dog some more thinking when you manage. Okay?”  
”Okay. Thanks.”  
  
She smiles again and when she leaves, my stomach doesn’t feel like it hates me quite so much.


	22. Billy (3rd person)

He’s a sap. He really is. Seeing his husband with his nephew makes Billy ridiculously happy right now. Liam practically threw himself around his uncles neck, despite promising to be calm, but Ned didn’t seem to mind. Now, Liam is planted on the side of his uncles bed, which is pulled up to allow a sitting position and the kid talks like he was paid by the minute.  
  
Ned is tired, but calm and he really seems to enjoy the visit. He answers Liam’s questions about the tubes and the IV needle and, of course, like other four year olds, Liam finds all the strange things around uncle Ned very exciting. He’s a calm kid though, and remembers to not run around or be loud.  
  
”Uncle Ned?”  
”Yeah?”  
”I saw a cat in yers and uncle Billy’s garden.”  
”Really? When did ye see it?”  
”When I had breakfast. Was all grey.”  
”Ah, that cat. Did uncle Billy tell ye it’s name?”  
”Aye, but I forgot it.”  
  
Both Ned’s and Liam’s accent seem to increase in each others company and Billy finds it pretty cute. He and Fiona give them space because it was a long time since Liam saw his uncle and it’s clear that Ned needs a little company from someone who doesn’t really know what happened to him, or can guess the truth.  
  
”Uncle Ned?”  
”Yeah?”  
”When ye come home?”  
”I don’t really know that, sweetheart. The doctors must fix me a little more first.”  
”Cause the bad people hurt ye?”  
”Yeah, they did. But I’m getting better now.”  
  
Liam seems to contemplate that for a moment and then he takes his uncle’s hand.  
  
”Uncle Billy made pancakes.”  
”For breakfast? Yummie.”  
  
A sense of normality in an anything but normal situation. Ned looks so tired but he keeps talking to Liam, just slower and slower. Fiona leans in.  
  
”Liam.”  
”Yeah, maw?”  
”I think uncle Ned needs to rest now. We can come back another day.”  
  
She doesn’t give a specific day, becuase it’s not likely Ned will have the energy for another visit tomorrow from all three, and Liam reluctantly slids down from the bed after giving his bony uncle a hug.  
  
”Bye-bye, uncle Ned.”  
”Bye, kiddo. Ye take care of maw and uncle Billy now, right?”  
”Yeah.”  
  
Fiona gives her brother a hug and then Billy sits down, pulling Ned close in a long, soft embrace. Ned feels so tiny, so fragile and neither wants to let go. Liam looks at them, but doesn’t say anything. He lets Fiona help him with the jacket and put his beanie back on, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the bed.  
  
Billy feels Ned going heavier against his shoulder and he lowers the head end of the bed before helping Ned down to a laying position again. His husband is so light and fragile now, and Billy knows how to help without adding pain. He adjusts the pillow, Ned’s hair and the old Satyricon t-shirt he’s wearing instead of the hospital shirt. He arranges the blankets and puts the halfmittens on Ned’s cold hands before pulling the blanket up to his chin. He plants a shallow kiss on the scruffy hair.  
  
”Sleep tight, darling. I love you… See you tomorrow.”


	23. Ned (3rd person)

Finally, he’s off the IV and on his way home. Ned isn’t really sure of how long he’s been at the hospital, but since the sun seems to stay longer now than in the beginning, he assume it’s been quite long. It’s surreal not keeping track of time.  
  
Fiona and Liam came to visit one more time before they went back home and the reason why Ned ended up in hospital, wasn’t mentioned. With a kid around, telling about a trip to the zoo, completely overjoyed for spending an entire morning with his uncle looking at animals, it’s not really a good time to bring the subject up. And Ned was grateful it wasn’t. One week and an overload of nutritional drinks after they left, Ned’s going home. With a PC assistant.  
  
Ned has no idea how this is even possible and he’s definately not happy about it, but the woman who’s supposed to keep him company while Billy’s at work, is far from the jaunty, patronising person he expected her to be. Her name’s Anne Bonny, she’s small and scrawny and smiling seems to be an unfamiliar thing to her. She came to meet him at the hospital three times before she got the position and Ned reluctantly admits she’s not completely awful, but he still hates the idea of being watched like a kid. Billy seems relieved though and assures him it’s only temporary – he better be fucking right about that! – and despite feeling like another part of control is slipping from his grasp, Ned accepts.  
  
Billy picks him up and Ned walks out from the ward on crutches, one small bit at the time. Dr. Howell assured him the blood results were improving and after being able to drink an entire days worth of minumum calories for someone in his condition without throwing up, four days in a row, Ned was released. He’s to get back to the clinic for tests, but at least he gets to be home now.  
  
The PC assistant waits for them outside the clinic and nods at Ned, looking very relaxed in her lightwashed jeans and black coat.  
  
”Hi, Ned.”  
”Hi.”  
  
She doesn’t say anything else, just starts walking with them to the car. It’s a slow walk. Ned is tired when they’re halfways and when Anne opens the door to the front seat for him, he’s exhausted. Billy puts the bag in the backseat, Anne jumps in and soon they’re on their way home. With a stranger.  
  
Ned may accept this, but only because he’s too tired to fight. Anne Bonny is a pretty weird person. At least Ned thinks most people would think so. She’s boyish, looks more or less grouchy and her long, dark hair is a bit messy. On the few times they’ve met at the ward, she didn’t speak much and was very keen on not intruding, neither with questions or physically. That’s the only reason Ned doesn’t simply slam a crutch in her and Billy’s head.  
  
The fact that this woman doesn’t say a word on the entire ride home, decreases Ned’s lust to scare her off by acting like an idiot. And honestly, she doesn’t seem to be easily scared by anyone, least of all a human shipwreck on crutches. She’s supposed to look after Ned while Billy’s at work, but no one has used that expression when talking about this. She’s ”a company”, ”a help in daily life” and ”a temporary support”. A lunatic guardian by another name, Ned thinks, but at least she’s not patronising and Ned honestly has no energy for making a fight.  
  
Coming home feels weird. The gate, the miscoloured mailbox, the buds in the garden, the green door Billy unlocks. It feels a lot more like spring than when Ned was taken to the hospital.  
  
”I’m putting the kettle on.”  
  
Billy disappears into the kitchen and Ned swears he’ll punch this Anne Bonny if she offers him help with the shoes. He sits down on the chair, leaning the damn crutches against the wall and starts untying his old clodshoppers. Anne simply takes her coat and hat off and puts a pair of shoe covers on. Ned frowns.  
  
”Ye don’t have to use those. Makes me feel like I’m in an institution.”  
”I’ll use my slippers then. If that’s alright?”  
”Aye. Thanks.”  
  
She doesn’t take over. She lets him manage on his own until he asks for help and Ned soon manages to get into the kitchen.  
  
Everything looks just as it should. The table is slightly messy with papers and books. The pot plants are crowded on the window sill and the floor creaks a little when they move around. Ned sits down on his usual spot, massaging his knees a little after the walk. He hates to admit it, but he’s in quite a lot of pain still. Dr. Howell says it’s from the stress and he’s probably right. Ned glances at the woman who looks more like a hybrid of a pissed off teenage girl and a violent gang member, than a PC assistant.  
  
”How long are ye stayin’ today?”  
”Four. And then I start again tomorrow at eight.”  
  
Billy pours water in the pot.  
  
”I’ll have lunch at home this week and I have Friday afternoon off.”  
  
_How nice_. If the meds weren’t so damn efficiant, Ned would probably say something mean, but this fucking care is like a thick, relentless blanket, wrapped around him like a cocoon. It leaves very little room to protest and balance just on the boarder of acceptable. It wouldn’t take much to tip over and feel completely fucking wrong enough for Ned to refuse to cooperate.  
  
While sipping on the tea, Ned decides to wait with the bigger protests until he can sleep upstairs again. The guestroom is quite cozy, but it’s not his bed and he’ll get his own back faster if he doesn’t exhaust himself. Walking that stair with crutches is not a good idea and being carried by Billy would be fucking mortifying. Billy tries to keep the conversation going, but it’s not easy. Anne truly is the quiet type and Ned can’t help but feeling pleased to see his husband struggle. Anne isn’t impolite at all, just not the least chatty and when Billy’s phone rings, he looks a bit relieved to get an excuse to leave.  
  
Anne sips quietly on her tea and Ned bites his lip.  
  
”Where are ye from?”  
”Cork.”  
”Ye’re Irish?”  
  
Ned’s truly surprised and Anne nods.  
  
”Yep, but I’m actually raised in Charleston, South Carolina. My parents left Ireland when I was two and then I moved from Charleston when I was fifteen. Have lived in London ever since.”  
”Oh. How old are ye? I’ve forgotten.”  
”Thirtytwo.”  
   
Ned realises he’s not really asked much about her on their earlier meetings, perhaps because they’ve not been alone. She looks young but not at all innocent. Like someone who’s never really been naive.  
  
”Ye like dogs?”  
”Very much.”  
  
Ned smirks at the answer. Of course Billy would want a dog’s person… Anne gives a small smile.  
  
”Maybe should’ve said this earlier, but often I actually prefer dogs to people.”  
  
Ned puts his cup down and Billy comes back. Ned smiles at his husband and gets a relieved glance back. If there’s no way to get around this PCA shit, Anne Bonny is probably the least bad option. And it feels good to be home again.


	24. Billy (1st person)

Structure. Predictability. Safety. More than anything, your safety is my first priority. You’ve accepted a lot of help you’d never allow if it wasn’t for the weariness and anxiety. Now, as your body has been allowed to rest, refill some nutrition and get a bit more energy, you still may not like the help, but you can finally feel the benefits from it. The fact that Elle and James insisted on paying for this help privately – good luck getting a PCA this easily without money and connections – and wouldn’t take no for an answer, made it impossible for me to say no.  
  
This offer, I realise, is a chance for recovery the official health care system couldn’t give you in a million years. The only real care they could give besides meds, was group therapy beginning in two months and swallowing the pride and let Elle and James use both their money and connections to help out, was a lot easier option than I’d care to admit. I’m paying them a symbolic amount for it, mostly because it makes me feel a little less like I’m using them, but they really don’t need it.  
  
Our friends are from quite different social backgrounds, which is unusual, but we never talk about money. Elle’s wealth comes from inherited money as well as a well-payed job as a CEO on a large travels company. James’ comes from stock investments, naturally frugal habits and a position as civil engineer on a successful IT company. Charles and John, on the other hand, hold down jobs as a security guard and bartender and couldn’t care less about making careers. Honestly, I’m not sure I’d be comfortable with such big difference in income. I guess I’m far too aware of my own poor background and lack of biological bonds to be proud of, to see past such things.  
  
So, I force my discomfort for not being enough aside, because I know this is an offer that would be insanely stupid not to accept and because I know Elle and James don’t do this to show off, but because they care about us both and want to help. And because I’m not ready to accept less good help for you unless I have to.  
  
This means that after what’s felt like a neverending road in darkness, we’re no longer surrounded with our friends as watch guards while I try to sleep once you’re out from exhaustion. Instead you now have a very quiet and calm PCA on probationary period, scheduled appointments with the Hamilton couple and a certain dog, and a slightly less hysterical husband.  
  
It’s all so fragile. Just seeing you move around the house again, one small step at the time as the crutches creak against the floor and with an expression of indifference and just plain weariness on your face, reminds me of how long a road you still have to recovery. For my own part, the biggest challenge is not to help you, but to stop myself from not going after my ex. If I don’t keep myself occupied, my thoughts immediately take a violent turn and I daydream of Woodes’ blood. Of the unknown women’s. In my mind, I kill them every day and night, resurrecting them over and over again to grant them another suitable punishment. And the only thing stopping me from crossing the line, is you.  
  
I may still feel very much shut off from your heart and mind, but what I without a sliver of a doubt knows, is that the major reason you kept silent, why you were barely aware of telling me, was because you wanted to spare me the risk of crossing a line that can never be uncrossed once it’s done. Something that would banish us both from sanctuary in a way that very possibly could be the end of not just our marriage, but also my freedom. A husband in jail for murder – yes, murder, because I wouldn’t trust myself to stop before that line was crossed should I get the hands on Woodes or the women – wouldn’t mean anything. An empty symbol of vengeance that would take away whatever peace and happiness we have left and still can rebuilt.  
  
For this, for knowing what kind of dark spiral I would fall into if I feel too powerless, to weak to help you, I swallow my pride. I’m grateful, of course. Words cannot express how grateful I am for the schedule on the fridge, picturing a life of stability and help I know few people in our situation could ever have.  
  
To not having to return to the hospital, which I know is the last thing you want, you have to follow a rigorous eating plan with added nutional drinks, take your meds as prescribed and take part in some kind of rehabilitation program. Now, since the lines to the official programs stretch across the country and you refuse group therapy of any kind, the only option right now has four paws and a tail. The pics and movies on Mary Read have softened you a little and I don’t even have to remind you of your promise.  
  
You remember and the only reaction the appointment on the schedule wokes up, is a small nod. When Anne, who’s just staying an hour today, closes the door behind her and leaves for the day, you simply drag yourself into the living room and fall into an exhausted pile of clothed bones on the couch. I realise too late that in my eagerness to present all the things that will make your life less hard and exhausting, I completely robbed you of all your energy. I wonder where the medal of honour for wellmeaning but increadibly stupid husbands are, because I truly deserve it.  


	25. Ned (1st person)

”Babe?”  
”Yeah?”  
”You want some tea?”  
”Sure.”  
  
I can’t walk up the stairs and that makes me feel less at home. Billy’s brought down a lot of my stuff to the guestroom, but I still feel very misplaced. Hate my fragile, weak, unsteady bones with all my being right now. But I can fucking move on my own unless there are stairs in the way, so I’ve spent the rest of the first day at home on the couch, sleeping.   
  
I woke up earlier from the sound of Billy making a fire. He’d put another blanket over me while I slept, knowing I freeze like an old man these days. And that little gesture, as so many other things, made me cry. After holding me through the worst, Billy used his puppy dog eyes to get me to have a nutritional drink while he had dinner. Bastard. Knowing I would refuse normal food right now because I’m just too tired after the day, he didn’t even give me the satisfaction of refusing. He just _knew_.   
  
Fiona knows shit too now. So does maw. Not sure what she knows, but somehow Fiona and Billy must’ve calmed her enough to be content with sending a letter instead of calling or simply come over and get hysterical. Not that I’ve ever seen maw hysterical. Haven’t read the letter yet, though. It’s in my pocket, unopened. I take it out and go back to my temporary room, placing it on the dresser. When I leave, I see something waver behind the door. I take a look and suddenly I’m shaking. My body shivers like leaf and my mind shatters again.  
  
I don’t panic, I rage. Cry and rage because the poster flag someone, probably not Billy, put up there has the same print as the t-shirt I wore that night.   
  
”Ned? Ned?”  
”Where is it?!”  
”Where is what?”  
”Who took it?! Fucking shite eating fucking assholes, I’m gonna kill’em!”  
”Please, hon, just tell me what… Oh, fuck. Who put that up… Ned, Ned, come here… It’s… I have it here, come and see.”  
  
I can’t take comfort now. My body draws tight and I’m so angry it scares me. All I can think of is that t-shirt, the one teared but still left on me. Can hear the sound, cotton fabric breaking, the material isn’t hard to tear. My jeans is harder and someone pulls them up while I’m still screaming because I’m torn apart and suddenly, it all stops and it’s cold. So fucking cold.  
  
Ague. My body is shaking and I hit the wall, the thick wall I can’t break with my pathetic fists that were completely limp and numb in the car. Everything but my cock just loose and limp. My shoes come off, there is flesh rubbing hard and heavy over me, chewing gum breaths and the wetness, the hot, disgusting wetness…   
  
”Ned, it’s just a panic attack, you’re safe here, hon…”  
  
I scream. Fight. Don’t know where I am, because I can smell the snow, the forrest and hear the cars passing by. No one helped.  
  
”I’m here now, sweetheart, I’m helping you right now. You’re having a flashback, Ned… Tell me what’s happening.”  
  
Can’t be touched, cannot be touched. My skin is too tight and the laughs… The laughs, light and happy and so fucking normal through my clouded mind. I’m in pain, tell them to stop, at least I think so but there’s no reaction. I’m just a thing, any sounds coming from me accidental and meaningless. And suddenly, I loose all strenght, become boneless and motioneless…   
  
”It’s right here, Ned. You’re holding it right now.”  
  
Am I talking? Is he answering something. I look up and see him. I’m home. Billy’s my home and I’m laying on our bed, my body screams at me, but I’m home. I’m squeezing something, my fists wont open and it hurts. Billy holds me, I can feel his scent, know it’s him but I can’t lean in. I’m no longer on that road, there’s safety inches away but I can’t reach it.   
  
”Ned? Do you reckognize me?”  
”Billy…”  
”That’s right, it’s Billy, your husband. You’re home and I’m protecting you. There’s nothing to be afraid of, sweetheart.”  
  
He keeps talking, there’s still distance and I want to be close, want him to hold me, but I can’t. Through my wet veil I see a small jar, white with my name on it. My husband who I now reckognize, takes out two small, white pills and he keeps talking, voice calm and safe and I just cry because I don’t know who gave me that jar or if it’s really mine.   
  
”You don’t have to, babe, but it will feel so much better if you take it. I promise, I swear on my life it will make the pain and fear go away. Trust me, my love, I would never do anything to hurt you…”  
  
I have no sense of time, but i can hear it’s Billy. I know him, I know he loves me, I know we’re married, know that he’s helping me and finally, when I’m almost on the brink of another attack, I search for his hand, suck the two small pills from his palm and lape from the offered glass until I’ve swallowed. I fall back on the bed, still crying and the fear is still as clear and sharp, but I’m exhausted, defeated and what if I’m in those foreverdark woods still…  
  
I’m still shivering, not from panic, but from the cold. I’m freezing, my clothes are wet from the snow – or is it my own sweat, I’m still not sure – and my teeth are clattering. I want out of these clothes and I start tugging at them, blind and effortless.  
  
”You want dry clothes, Ned? Alright, just don’t pull so hard, babe, you’ll hurt yourself. Will you let me help you?”  
  
Blue eyes. Calm, loving, blue eyes. Warm hands. Questions. I nod. I reckognize him.  
  
He’s talking slow and kind to me, removes my soaked clothes carefully and wraps me in a blanket. He fetches dry, clean clothes and helps me redress without removing the blanket from my hips. My hands are far too numb to be of any help and so he’s forced to actually touch me in order to get me covered again. But I don’t panic now. My mind is home again, it knows his hands, knows his touch.   
  
When I’m dressed, he carries me back to the fire. It’s out now. Billy places me on the couch and lights another fire. Then he lifts me again, very gently, and sits down on the carpet, close to the fire with me leaned against him.  
  
”You alright sitting like this, babe?”  
  
I hum. Too exhausted to  speak now and he tucks the blanket tighter around me. But I don’t feel trapped now. The nightmare still dwells somewhere in my head, but I’m not afraid. My body slowly starts to warm up and I become heavy against Billy. He rubs my arms, rocks me and rests his mouth in my hair.  
  
”It’s alright, love. You’re safe here, you’re safe with me. Nothing’s gonna hurt you, I promise. You’re no alone, I’m with you and I’m not gonna leave you.”  
  
Soft voice. Calm words. His arms a fence, shutting my nightmares out. Am I safe now? And where's my t-shirt?


	26. Billy (1st person)

As expected, he’s completely whacked today and honestly, so am I. Maybe it was too early. Too much too soon. He’s sleeping by the fire now. I keep it going while I start with the breakfast. Haven’t had fry-up in weeks and I need something salty. Scrambled eggs, bacon and fried tomatos. And coffee. For me, John and James.  
  
Yes, they’re here. James called earlier and I’m not really good at lying at the moment so I ended up crying on the phone. It’s Saturday, I realise, and I feel guilty for ruining my friends day off but John points out it’s their own decision and gives me a kiss on cheek. He looks sharp today, fresh and tidy in a way I’ve not been in weeks. I’m so tired and feel like a wreck, sweaty and dirty and I can’t find the tomatos. I’m just about to start kicking something when James dangles my trainers before me.  
  
”You take a hike, we make breakfast.”  
  
It’s an order and without even changing to sportswear, I put my shoes on and leave. It’s fucking heaven. My body seems to shout a _fucking finally_ and I run like fucking Forrest Gump, my usual round and back. When I come to the part withing longest distance from people, I let loose completely and just scream. I roar, howl and weep, not caring the least who might hear me and punch a poor, innocent tree before sinking down under it and just sob until I’m empty. When I’m finally cried out and manage to raise, it’s raining and I jog back despite my legs tingling from the shock treatment. Back inside, I smell bacon and coffee.  
  
”There you are.”  
  
John looks out from the kitchen and I nod at the guestroom.  
  
”Is he…?”  
”Sleeping calmly, yes. Checked on him two minutes ago.”  
”Thanks.”  
  
I take my shoes off and hit the shower. I’m almost relaxed and of course my cock wakes up like a clockwork so I take some unperfumed soap and rub one off. I rarely do it, certainly not unless I’m already hard, but sometimes it’s a good way to release too much tension. And walking around with a boner is fucking uncomfortable. This is just a mechanical, physical matter to me. I’ve never longed for it, never found any pleasure in fantasies or wanted to prolong it. The asexual spectrum is huge and I’m definately on the darker end of the greyscale.  
  
Ned’s on a slightly lighter tone, he even likes this sometimes, as long as no people are involved of course. I have no idea if he’s fantasizing or just go for the pure physical release and it’s non of my business. I go off pretty fast and it feels slightly better, makes me a little less tense and finish washing my body and hair almost angrily, to get rid of all the layers of sweat that feels like they’ve stuck on me. When I’m done I shave, use face cream and lotion – yes, I prefer not looking like flaking house paint all over – before I go to our shared bedroom to dress.  
  
I guess I look human, because John makes an appreciating nod as he puts a plate with breakfast by my place. I sit down and he gives me another kiss on cheek.  
  
”Bon appetite, pretty boy.”  
  
James just snorts and John hands him a plate too, along with a kiss on mouth.  
  
”I like you too, darling.”  
  
I laugh and James just shakes his head while I throw myself over the fry-up and coffee. It takes several minutes before I even look up and I finish my breakfast in reckord time. John swallows a mouthful of scrambled eggs.  
  
”When did you last have anything to eat?”  
”Uhm… Had tea around eight, I think.”  
  
Food hasn’t really been on my mind this night, for obvious reasons. No wonder I was starving. I lean back on the chair, sipping on my coffee as John and James eat like normal people and my stomach tries to digest the huge breakfast. James looks at his phone.  
  
”When’s your next appointment with Randy and Thomas?”  
”Monday, half past ten.”  
”And Anne? She’s coming with you?”  
”That’s the idea, but…”  
  
I sip on my coffee, feeling almost normal.  
  
”I’m not sure Ned can handle it. Last night, it was… God…”  
  
John, who’s finished too, moves to sit on my lap and hug me. I almost laugh while crying because it’s such a John thing to do. We’ve been friends a long time and I’m just too fucking tall and broad for him, so he simply plants himself on my knees to reach. I sob in my friend’s poodle locks as he strokes my back. James leaves the table, patting my shoulder.  
  
”I’m going to check on him.”  
”Thanks…”  
  
I thought I was out of tears after the hike. Of course I was wrong.  
  
”He… he was so afraid, John. Yesterday… First it was almost normal and then he saw the poster.”  
”What poster?”  
”The same as the t-shirt he had. The one they…”  
”Oh, Billy…”  
”He started shaking and screaming, looking for the t-shirt… He just lost it completely, John, as if he was… He thought he was back in the forrest!”  
  
Is this how our lives are supposed to be? My husband thrown between horrible nightmares and complete exhaustion and me trying to be his rock, only to break while we have a moment of rest from this? And he’s refused to confirm or even repeat the names. Not Woodes, not Charlotte, not Alice. And for once, the almighty Internet has been to no help. I still don’t know who the women are and the fucking beast I once dated isn’t even in England now, but free and happily on long trip to fucking Bahamas with friends. Almost smashed my computor when I saw the picture.  
  
James comes back, this time stroking my hair.  
  
”He’s still asleep. Why don’t you join him? We stay here with you.”  
”But…”  
  
No, I have no arguments left for anything. All I want is sleep, but I need to be alone. I need my own bed, my own private room. John leaves my lap and I stand. My legs are a bit shaky. I rub a hand over my eyes.  
  
”I need to sleep alone. In my own room.”  
  
I really the space now if I’m to have any rest. John just nods.  
  
”Can we go upstairs in case he wakes up?”  
  
I forgot about that. We don’t want people upstairs, not even close friends, but this is different. I need my own bed desperately now. I nod.  
  
”It’s the door on the left. Knock if he wakes up.”  
”To the left. We’ll come knocking if necessairy and we wont open any of those doors. Now get some sleep.”  
  
One day I must tell James I love him. I drag myself upstairs, close the doors to our shared bedroom and crash on my own bed for the mercy of uninterrupted sleep in peaceful solitude.


	27. Ned (3rd person)

It’s two days since the huge fit and Ned’s been sleeping for most part. So has Billy. None of them has had a whole night of uninterrupted sleep for a long time now. When Ned wakes up, it’s not from a nightmare, but music. He’s back in his own bed upstairs but he has no memory of being brought there. In fact, Ned doesn’t remember much at all. But someone is playing Blind Guardian on a loud volume and after rubbing his legs for a while, Ned leaves his room.  
  
The door to Billy’s room isn’t all closed and to Ned’s huge – no, fucking enormous – surprise, his husband is not only listening to _Banished From Sanctuary_ laying on the floor with one knitted sock foot on his knee – he’s _smoking_. Ned’s soccer playing, gym loving health freak of a husband is fucking smoking what could only be Fiona’s left fags while listening to German speed metal from 1989.  
  
Before Ned can decide wheather he should knock or not, Billy turns his head and squeaks.  
  
”Jesus!”  
”Sorry…”  
  
Billy lowers the music and throws a confused look at his even more confused husband.  
  
”Didn’t mean to wake you, uhm… I borrowed a record, hope that’s okay.”  
”Can I have one?”  
  
Ned nods at the fags and his husband hands over the package and the lighter. It feels worringly good to smoke and Ned sits down, crosslegged by the old glass jar Billy uses as an ash tray. They don’t talk and when Ned’s finished his fag, he simply lays down his head on his husband’s thigh. Billy puts out his own fag and entangles a hand in Ned’s hair, slowly combing it with his fingers.  
  
Ned closes his eyes, listening to the music, realising Billy’s not using the vinyl record, but the cd and that he’s put this one song on repeat. Not that Ned’s complaining, but it’s definately not he thought he’d find Billy doing.  
  
Billy keeps combing the tangles, humming along with the music and Ned smiles. When the chorus begins, they both sing, low and not very beautiful.  
  
”No, no turning back, I'm banished from Sanctuary. The darkness in me is filling me with pain, there's no way to turn back for eternity… In shadows I'm walking, and caught in loneliness. Deliverance I wait for but how long? Are you the one who should come, show me the light in you, or should we wait for someone? Another! No, no turning back, I'm banished from Sanctuary. The darkness in me is filling me with pain, there's no way to turn back for eternity…”  
  
For a moment, they’re on break from life as it was before Ned put his head in Billy’s lap again and Ned nuzzles the jeans fabric on the muscled thigh, reclaiming closeness earlier denied them by nightmares and shadows. Ned reaches for the remote after a while, lowering the music enough to speak.  
  
”It’s the cold. The darkness…”  
”What?”  
  
Billy’s stroking Ned’s hair.  
  
”The worst of it… t’is not _that_ … T’is the darkness. The snow and the woods…”  
  
He swallows.  
  
”When… when I close me eyes and… if I feel any wind, or hear it… It takes me back, Billy… It’s… Can’t fucking get it out me bloody head! Feel as if I’m gonna die there. Everytime, I’m just… laying there, knowing I’ll probably die before… before someone finds me… before ye find me…”  
  
He’s not had the words for it. For the fear. The rape – _rapes_ – being about so much more than the sexual part of the horror, or the other violence, or the drug. It’s also the night, the winter darkness and high trees. The sideroad, the icy wind against skin where clothes been torn. It’s bare feet, empty silence and the shock slowly creeping through the veil of spiked booze. A part of Ned’s mind never crawled up from the ditch, never walked towards the lights flickering back in town, visible from the road but too far away for him to reach.  
  
A huge part of Ned is still stumbling in that darkness, reality clouded from GHB and booze, only conscious enough to know the cold’s gonna kill him unless he can make it to the light. And low in the background of this gutwrenching fear, a German singer with an increadible vocal range, puts words to the nightmare for the first time in broad daylight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the song, Blind Guardian's "Banished From Sanctuary":
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PvtoqnWcLuY


	28. Billy (3rd person)

”That’s right, girl. Say hello to Ned.”  
  
Thomas’ words makes the already tail waving dog walk over to Ned, who’s squatting on the floor. Billy smiles with his face turned away as he fills the kettle. James’ friends are fucking angels, truly. When hearing about the severe panic attack, they rescheduled so Ned could meet with Mary Read and Thomas at home. Not having to drag a very resistant and exhausted husband to the countryside in this state, couldn’t make Billy more relieved.  
  
”Why she’s doing that, Thomas?”  
”She’s trained to reckognize anxiety at all levels.”  
  
Billy throws an eye at the hallway, trying not to look like he’s spying or intruding. Mary Read has put her nose on Ned’s right thigh and he’s looking at her, partly confused, partly worried. Thomas smiles.  
  
”You can pet her if you like.”  
  
The hesitation is there, the reluctance. Ned is tired and more fragile than usual after the attack. He’s been crying a lot, had several minor panic attacks – quite effectively eased by the meds, thank God – and there’s no way in hell he’d been able to go to the Hamiltons in this state. He’s not smiling, but he’s petting the dog, his all focus is on her and Billy knows how important it is not to intervene. Mary Read will, of course, get to know him as well, but she’ll be Ned’s dog, first of all, and she’s here for his sake.  
  
While making tea and smalltalk with Thomas, Billy keeps an eye at the hallway, and the sight is simply heartbreaking, but in a completely different way than other states he’s seen his husband in for the last months. Ned has shrunk down to lean at the wall, bony legs crossed, and Mary Read is laying with her paws across his lap while Ned strokes her well-groomed fur. He still look like he’s not really sure how this is working, still tense in his movements, but unlike other dogs, Mary Read isn’t trained to be on her guard for her own sake with anxious people. She only looks once at Thomas for confirmation and after his nod, she knows she’s comforting the right person here. Billy can’t help but crying, but he’s doing it mute and out of sight from Ned.  
  
Thomas doesn’t seem the least surprised or worried. He’s happily accepting his tea, talking casually with Ned about Mary Read and Golden Retrievers in general. Ned’s answers are short, mostly nods, ”aye:s” and a few ”why:s” and hums. Billy realises Thomas has a way of talking to Ned that doesn’t really require answers. Not in a lecturing or patronizing way, but more like the one of a storytellers. It’s a happy voice, but the happiness lies far beneath the surface and is the kind of happiness a person who’s genuinly content with and grateful for his life, but not in the least snooty or bragging about it, shows. Thomas doesn’t at all act like a superior of any sort, or a pedagogue of the slightly patronizing sort some of their contancts in healthcare have shown with Ned.  
  
”What’s the name of your theatre group?”  
”Tintagel.”  
”Oh! From the Arthur legend.”  
”Ye know ’bout the castle?”  
  
Ned sounds impressed. The Arthur legend is, of course, known to everyone who’s not been raised under a rock, but few people who’re not into classic literature or fantasy, can place that name on spot. Thomas smiles.  
  
”Of course I do. Who can go through school in Great Britain and not know that?”  
”Me husband?”  
  
The teasing tone reminds so much about Ned before the assault and Billy fills three cups with tea, rolling his eyes at Thomas.  
  
”I thought it was one of Ned’s horrible metal bands and that he’d manage to make the theatre name after it by nagging long enough.”    
  
Thomas laughs and shakes his head. Ned looks amused as well, and gently shows Mary Read to move. He raises from the floor using the dresser as a support and goes into the kitchen to sit at the table. The Golden Retriever waits and Ned turns around.  
  
”Ye coming?”  
  
Billy follows his husband’s short walk and visibly exhaustion with hidden worry. Ned looks close to anorexic and digesting solid food is still a struggle. These past days after the major panic attack, his appetite has been non existant, obviously, and it shows. He should be drinking a nutritional drink now, but Billy expects that would only make his hypersensitive husband feel more uncomfortable in Thomas’ presence. Ned sits down and Mary Read does the same, sitting very nicely beside the chair and puts her nose back on Ned’s thigh.  
  
As Thomas continues the casual conversation in an almost exquisite manner, making it look like nothing out of the ordinary is happening here, but also no hiding or avoiding, Billy sees how the tension Ned’s exhaustion usually comes with while in company, seems to decrease. He’s less and less talkative as the clock is ticking, but his mind isn’t occupied with worried or painful thoughts now. His attention is constantly pulling him back to the dog by his side and it’s she who gets his rare smiles and the softened looks. Billy swallows.  
  
”What do you say, hon? Looks like you’re getting along.”  
  
More like they’ve picked each other, but he doesn’t say that. Ned wouldn’t like to hear anything that suggests Billy or anyone else knowing what he wants or not. He’s still looking at Mary Read, the one seeing eye only for her now and Thomas gives Billy a very small nod and a smile. The final decision is Ned’s, but he’s clearly already made it. He only has to find that out for himself.  


	29. Ned (1st person)

I don’t like dogs, but this one is different. When Thomas has to leave, I’m suddenly not at all prepared for Mary Read to leave too. I realise she’s not mine, that Thomas is the one deciding this but as much as I hated this idea at first, seeing them preparing to leave, is like seeing safety leave and I can’t handle the situation at all.  
  
I hate to cry in front of others and I go to the temporary bedroom on my damn crutches as fast as I can to lay down on the bed and try to calm down. I’m prepared to hear Billy come inside to try and calm me, but the sound I hear is from paws and then I feel the warm nose on my arm. The dog I thought I didn’t need, is trying to comfort me. I pat at the mattress and she jumps up, laying beside me like a warm, solid wall against reality and the one thing I hate more than crying for others to see, is to admit Billy was right about this, but he is.  
  
The pressure from this body doesn’t feel threatening at all. She’s not a human, should she harm anyone it would be in self-defense. She has no agenda, she doesn’t know what happened to me, she doesn’t ask and doesn’t judge.  
  
”Babe?”  
  
My husband, always so calm. He lowers by the bed, stroking my hair.  
  
”I spoke to Thomas and you know, there are some practical things that must be done. Paperwork and a little training under watch and stuff.”  
  
I don’t answer ’cause I don’t trust my voice now and I’m terrified the Hamiltons will decide I can’t have this dog. That I’m no responsible enough. Too fucked up. Billy pets her.  
  
”Such a good girl, Mary. I think you and your new daddy will get along just perfect.”  
”I can’t have her, Billy.”  
”Why not?”  
”Because… well, fucking look at me. The fucking impression I make, Thomas must think I’m a complete nuthead.”  
”Sweetheart, that’s what these dogs are for. Mary Read _is_ a dog for complete nutheads and the only reason she’s not staying with us right now, is because we need to have some training and education with her and the Hamiltons first. Today is Monday and our next appointment is Wednesday after lunch. We’ll go there together with Anne and Thomas or Miranda will start teaching us how this work.”  
”What if someone else wants her?”  
”Hon, this is not a dog people can pick and choose like pets. Mary Read is reserved for you until we know if she’s the right help for you or not. If you shouldn’t have her, it would be if she for some reason doesn’t work well with you, which I highly doubt. Unless one of us suddenly get allergic or you and her don’t work well together, or you’re not helped from this, she’s yours.”  
”How much will it cost? I have savings so…”  
”We’re not paying for her.”  
”What?”  
”She’s not for sale, Ned, she’s a service dog.”  
”But how…?”  
”Don’t think about that, you’ll only get a headache. All you have to know is that sometimes the right connections matter far more than it should.”  
”James…?”  
”Maybe, but I really don’t know the procedures. I just know that without him being so close with the Hamiltons, this would’ve taken far more time and probably not run half as smoothe.”  
  
The panic is gone and I pet my soon to be dog. I still don’t want to part from her, but I feel much calmer now. I just need more reassurance.  
  
”Ye’re sure I’ll get her?”  
”I’m sure. And I like her too, you know.”  
  
He kisses me on the hair.  
  
”Are you okay with letting her go for now? Thomas is waiting for her.”  
”Fuck… I didn’t mean to…”  
  
I feel rude and childish, but Billy cuts me off.  
  
”It’s alright, Ned. He’s here, Mary Read is here, because of your ptsd, not despite it. Shall we go back to Thomas?”  
  
I still hate having to part from her, and I apologies to Thomas for my behavior but he’s not displeased or annoyed. He puts the leash on Mary Read and shakes my hand.  
  
”I think this went really well, Ned and I look forward to see you Wednesday. I’m quite sure Mary Read will be very glad to see you.”  
”Thanks.”  
  
I’m still a bit red-eyed, but it feels much better now and when Thomas and Mary Read have left, the panic doesn’t come back.  
  
Fuck it. I like dogs. In fact, I love dogs, cats and birds and fucking hedgehodges quite a lot, and my husband knows that better than anyone. I’m suddenly glad he didn’t say that. That he didn’t use my love for animals like a bait. Billy may have arranged this and the Hamiltons pick their clients, but I’m the one having the final decision to accept this help or not. I could say no, wanted to for a long time, but now I wont. Mary Read is mine.


	30. Billy (1st person)

”I take it’s not a good time for a visit, kiddo.”  
”Not really. Sorry, dad.”  
  
Haven’t talked to dad in weeks, only used texts and I feel bad for it. Feel bad for sounding like he’s an inconvenience for calling. He’s my dad for fucks sake and any other time I’d love for him to visit.  
  
”Look, I really wish you could come but…”  
”I know, Billy. You don’t have to make excuses, but as a father… You never really stop worry.”  
”Unless you’re Phelan Low, I guess.”  
  
Oh, perfect. Tears. Yeah, this is one good reason this is not a good idea. I cry enough as it is and send a silent prayer of thanks that Ned’s asleep downstairs and has Ben outside the room. Dad sighs.  
  
”What was that so called pneumonia really about? You know I love Ned like a second son and this silence from you is worrying. Have you two had a fall-out with his father?”  
”No. It’s not about him at all.”  
”You’re not having some kind of marital crisis this early, I hope?”  
”No!”  
”Then how come I’ve hardly heard from you since January?”  
  
Because… because, because, because… Yeah, we have a fucking crisis here. I tell him as little as I have to, explaining I really can’t say too much without Ned’s permission and that we’re getting more help now. My dad sighs and I can picture him rubbing a hand over his face now, grimazing.  
  
”What kind of person would do such a thing… Leaving someone in the snow… Good God, Billy, is he… how are you both dealing with it?”  
”Hour by hour on a good day. Look, I really couldn’t handle telling you when I knew Ned wouldn’t allow it. It’s not that I didn’t… We didn’t tell Elan either. I’m so sorry but…”  
”Calm down, kid. I understand. I just miss and worry about my son and son-in-law.”  
”Miss you too. We’re getting a dog, by the way.”  
”A dog?”  
”Yeah. For Ned. It’s a service dog, for people with ptsd.”  
”I know about those. You remember Gary down the docks? The one who used to help me with the boat?”  
”Small dude? Nervous laughter? He used to give me those twinned lollipops you didn’t want me to eat.”  
”Cavities is a bitch. You remember his dog?”  
”Sure. Cassy.”  
”And that was a service dog. Gary was a war vet and that dog went with him everywhere.”  
  
Dad chuckles.  
  
”I remember how relieved you got when I said you couldn’t pet that dog.”  
”It looked as big as a pony to me.”  
”Well, you were a scrawny kid… Anyways… Getting one of those dogs. How bad is it, really? At home.”  
”On a really shitty day? Like hell. Panic attacks, nightmares…”  
”Is he violent?”  
”Not to others… Oh, dad, I just… He’s so fucking _broken_.”  
   
My dad has always been good at comforting me. I’d lived in eight different families before he took me in and not all of them were the best of places for me. I was scrawny, suspicious and didn’t trust adults one bit when the social worker handed me over to Hal and it took some time before I melted, but eventually I even started calling him dad. He’s a bit rough in the edges, but he loves me and keeping the assault a secret has been harder than I thought. Realise that now as I sniffle on the phone.  
  
”Our friends… They’re so amazing I can’t even… We’d never make it without them. They’re helping out with everything and the dog, you know, it’s friends of James’ who’re making an exception just for Ned and Charles’ girlfriend, you remember Eleanor from the wedding?”  
”Blonde, nice girl in a suit? CEO on some big company?”  
”That’s her. Elle and James, they’re paying for both this dog and a PCA.”  
”PCA?”  
”Personal care assistent. Temporarily, so I can get back to work sooner. Ned can’t be alone yet and our friends have had a schedule to help me look after him… Don’t know how I’m ever to repay or even thank them enough.”  
”Don’t think about that. Just thank your lucky star for your friends and the next time you speak with them, send them your old dad’s deepest gratitude. They’re what saving you from me coming over and break into your home.”  
  
I laugh through my sobs.  
  
”Thanks. As soon as things are… less chaotic here…”  
”Oh, don’t think about that now, kiddo! Just give me an update every now and then, okay?”  
”I’ll do that, promise.”  
”And I’d like to see a picture of the dog.”  
”Sure.”  
”And one more thing.”  
”What?”  
”I understand you can’t tell me certain details, but we’ve talked about keeping truly important things secret from each other and…”  
”…I should know I can always come to you if I need help or just need to talk, because I’m not supposed to be all alone with my problems.”  
  
He made me repeat that sentence so many times when I was a kid, I knew it by heart before my teens. My dad’s always reminded me of that when he thinks I have a secret I really could share with him and feel a little better about it. He’s mostly been right. I smile to myself.  
  
”I wont forget it again.”  
”Good. Tell Ned I said hello and that I miss you both, alright?”  
”I will. Thanks for calling. And if you want to, you could call Elan. I mean, if you want to talk to…”  
”I’ll think about it. Take care now, kiddo. I love you.”  
”Love you too.”  
  
We hang up and I just remain on my bed and rest my head for a while. Ben is still downstairs, keeping an eye on Ned should he wake up. My husband is very tired today and will probably not want cooked dinner. He had chicken soup for lunch and a nutrional drink at three. Maybe a small portion of porridge with oat milk, chopped hazelnuts and some strawberries would do… In any case, I'm buying me and Ben pizza later. That’s the least I could do for keeping him away from Jacob tonight.


	31. Ned (3rd person)

”Fuck!”  
  
This is truly shitty. He’s so, so tired and his legs simply refuse to cooperate.  And Billy isn’t there, Mary Read isn’t there, he’s alone in his room and outside the window it’s dark. It’s like pushing a button. He’s trapped, alone, can’t stand up and the darkness will take him. Ned’s mind explodes.   
  
”Darling? Oh, sweetheart… What is it?”  
”Me fucking legs!”  
  
Billy. Ned clutches onto him like he’s the only think standing between Ned and the abyss. He’s whining against Billy’s chest, grasping for safety and this time the large, strong arms feels like a sanctuary again. His husband lifts him from the floor and onto his lap, shushing him like he’s a child.  
  
”You’re exhausted, Ned, that’s why you can’t stand up like usual. Your legs are working, they’re just a bit slow right now. You had a nightmare, hon?”  
”Ti’s… so dark.”  
”Oh… God, I’m so sorry, babe. I should’ve turned the lights on. I forgot, Ned, I’m so sorry…”  
  
The worst panic fades as Billy talks. Ned’s at home, there’s nothing to be afraid of and the night outside isn’t all black and blinding. There is light coming from the lamplights, the stars and in here, in their house, it’s warm and safe with lots of lamps. No one is coming for him, no one can snatch Ned from the safety and out in the darkness and cold again. It was just a nightmare and his legs are a bit weak because his body is tired.  Billy kisses his cheek.  
  
”You reckognize the room, sweetheart?”  
”Yeah… Guestroom, downstairs.”  
”Uh-huh. It’s half past eight in the evening and Ben is here.”  
”He is?”  
”We’re having pizza and Tarantino marathon.”  
”Basterds…”  
”We are?”  
”Watching… Tarantino without me… I’m offended.”  
  
Ned smiles. Yes, he reckognizes his home now. Billy smiles too and hugs him tight, making Ned feel safe and guarded again.   
  
”You wanna join us?”  
”Yeah… But no pizza.”  
”How about some porridge?”  
”Could try.”  
”I’ll make you some then. How are your legs?”  
  
Standing is no problem now, if he holds onto something, but walking is too difficult and Billy simply carries him to the telly where Ben sits, cross-legged on the floor with a large mushroom and pepper pizza with vegan cheese.   
  
”Hi, Ned.”   
”Hi. Where’s Jacob?”  
”The cinemas, on some horrible romantic bullshit with Max and Idelle.”  
  
Billy laughs and puts Ned down on the sofa.  
  
”You’re one to talk, doing Shakespeare and stuff.”  
”Stuff?”  
  
Ben looks so offended Ned has to laugh too and Billy just rolls his eyes and gives Ned a kiss on cheek.  
  
”I’ll make you some oatmeal, babe.”  
”Thanks.”  
  
Billy goes to the kitchen and Ned nods at the telly where the movie is not paused, but off.  
  
”Which one?”  
”Halfway through _Kill Bill 2_.”  
”Oh, good.”  
  
Ben puts it back on. Ned sinks down and tries to relax. Just because he feels weak and can’t walk very good, doesn’t mean he’s relaxed. He’s rubbing his arms with stiff movements. Ben looks up from the movie.  
  
”You okay, Ned?”  
”I think I… me meds?”  
”Oh, I’ll tell Billy.”  
  
His friend leaves the room and then comes back from the kitchen with a pill in a small plastic cup and a nutritional drink. Ned swallows the little white wonder and grimazes at the drink.  
  
”When I’m done with these, I’ll never have bloody fruit drinks again. Ever.”  
”They taste that bad?”  
”Try. It’s vegan.”  
  
Ben takes a small, suspicious sip and makes a disgusted face.  
  
”Eww! That’s just _horrible_! This is what happens when we allow straight people in the food industry. We get disgusting, artificial sweetness for people who need to eat more, not less.”  
”How’s that got anything to do with being straight?”  
”Hello? Food is art and since when did straight people become a reliable source for good art. _Please!_ ”   
”Ye’re having pizza from a box!”  
”I’m a vegan, nature freak carpenter, Ned. If i don’t practise straightness every once in a while, I’ll end up trying to convince our costumers they all need bungalows on the countryside, made of recycled material and windows facing the east so they get enough sunlight on their morning yogas.”  
  
Ned just laughs. Feels quite nice having Ben here. Billy comes back with the oatmeal, topped with strawberries, banana and hazelnuts.  
  
”Here you go, hon.”  
”Thanks.”  
  
He’s actually a little hungry. Sitting up is tricky though, so Billy places him onto his lap on the floor. Holding the bowl and spoon works fine and the oatmeal tastes good.   
  
”Ye already done, Billy?”  
”Yeah. It’s just Ben who can’t eat and watch at the same time.”  
”Eating too fast makes you hungry again too soon and then you eat again and gets fat.”  
  
Ben’s comments. He’s missed them. Rapid, sharp and often right on spot. Ned takes another mouthful, feeling the meds working and the tension bleed from him, slowly but steadily. Eating becomes easier, the movie is an old favourite and the warm, firm support from Billy’s body increases the calm. The darkness outside the window seems less scary, less threatening, but still not safe. When Ben goes to the kitchen to talk to Jacob who’s calling, Ned puts the two third finished oatmeal aside and turns to nuzzle his husband’s chest.  
  
”Tell me ti’s not gonna be like this forever…”  
  
Billy kisses his hair, stroking his arms softly.  
  
”Look outside. See?”  
”What?”  
  
Ned looks and then sinks back again.   
  
”Ti’s just dark.”  
  
Billy’s heart is steady and calm. Life pounding against Ned’s ear. He feels his husband’s mouth brushing over his hair.  
  
”Yeah, but yesterday at this hour, it was darker.”


	32. Billy (3rd person)

Today, he stands aside. He’s a spectator, not a leader or a guardian and that feels both hard and good. Ned sits on the floor with an arm around Mary Read who sits neatly beside him. There are also Miranda Hamilton and Anne Bonny, two vey different women and still strangers to Ned but amazingly, it works. Miranda – or Randy – is very motherlike in a way Billy guesses people spending time raising and nurturing living creatures of any kind – well, aside from meat producers – need to be. Anne, on the other hand, looks like the kind of person who’d avoid motherhood at all costs. Somehow it’s not a disastrous combination, quite the opposite.  
  
Anne is a bit blunt and grumpy, but she has eyes as a hawk and listens a lot more than she talks. Exactly where Eleanor found her is more than Billy knows, but who ever reckommended her for this job knew their shit. She’s unobtrusive, slow and predictable in her movements and keeps the bodily distance to Ned on two arms lengths. When she talks, it’s mostly questions about Mary Read and always directed to Ned, even if it’s Randy who has the answers. That way of not treating Ned like he’s a child, but always go to him first, letting him decide whether he wants to answer or let Randy or Billy step in, gives Billy a warm feeling inside. For an outside this may look like nothing, the very slow conversation where not much is said, Ned mostly being focused on the dog who’s completely stolen his heart and the small amount of excersises Randy presents.  
  
She doesn’t give Mary Read the commands now since, as she explains when Ned is unsure how to proceed, this is his dog now and it’s important that she learns to take instructions from him. The incredibly calm Golden Retriever seems to have no problems obeying Ned after a small confirmation nod from her ”foster mom”, as Randy jokingly calls herself.  
  
They practise for a while and when it becomes a little too much information for Ned after about twenty minutes, Mary Read senses the building stress and lays down across his lap. Randy and Anne both rise from the floor and Randy says they’ll take a break and let Ned be alone with Mary Read for a while. Ned just nods and pets his furry guardian. Billy remembers the panic from last time, when Thomas had to leave with the dog and he squats beside his husband for a moment.  
  
”You know she’s yours, right?”  
  
Nod. Ned is tired and Billy strokes his hair.  
  
”Can I pet her?”  
”Why wouldn’t ye?”  
”She’s _yours_ , Ned, not ours. You decide.”  
  
Ned looks at him like he’s said something incredibly stupid.  
  
”If ye don’t see her as yers at all, this is all pointless. Can’t fucking have a dog me husband can’t pet. That’s fucking ridiculous. Pet her, ye twat.”  
  
Billy scratches the lean head and Mary Read waves her tail. Ned smiles.  
  
”See? She likes ye. And besides, ye’ll have to help me with the walks in the beginning.”  
”Gladly.”  
  
He resists from pointing out ”the beginning” will be quite longer than Ned seems to think now, and that there will be days when all Ned can manage to do with this dog, is to lay still and let her presence comfort him. That walks and exercises will be Billy’s responsibility for some days in the future and that Billy’s fully aware of that and embracing it. It’s all too easy to stumble on the brink of being overprotective or too absent.  
  
Right now, Ned doesn’t need to think of such things. Just seeing him this relaxed, not just while having Anne and Randy in the house, but at all, is like taking a step out from darkness. And it’s not one of the straining, exhausting and struggling steps. It’s not fighting nausea and manage to eat, not riding out a nightmare and reckognizing a husband and home again. Mary Read is both a step in herself and someone pushing and carrying Ned to take another one, without even thinking about it. 


	33. Ned (1st person)

Darkness never frightened me. Darkness meant peace, nights meant silence. Back in Dublin, we lived in a quite lively neighborhood, but the nights were always calm. Almost everyone on our street worked early mornings and apart from a wandering drunk or two, cats and the sound of cars from the big road two blocks away, nights meant silence. And silence meant I could breathe.  
  
Our apartment had an exterior corridor and I used to sneak out some nights, just sitting on the bench maw used for her potted plants, smoke and just dwell in the silence. I learned early on to use my rapid tongue to get what I wanted and get out of trouble but I never felt comfortable in my body. Never liked being touched and when it came to relatives and people outside family I refused. To avoid it I snuck out to hide, no matter what time it was and so I came to like the darkness early on.  
  
One time when I was six, my grandparents came visiting and my da insisted I should shake hands with grandma and grandpa. I refused so he took my arm to force me and I bit him and then grandpa before running away to hide. Of course, da found me and then spanked me until even granpa thought he was too hard on me and grandma worried about the neighbors hearing me screaming.  
  
Maw wasn’t at home, if she’d been, she’d put a stop to it but da was furious and when he’d finished tanning my ass, he tried to make me shake hands again even if my grandparents said it wasn’t necessairy. Da, being the relentless asshole he was when he refused to admit defeat, simply forced my hand into grandpa’s and then grandma’s again and I was too scared to bite a second time. I didn’t apologies though, ’cause I couldn’t understand why my grandparents had to touch me to say hello. Da was just about to yell at me when maw came back and when I tried to pull my hand back, grandpa held it too hard so I bit him again and was fortunate enough to get away and run to maw before da could fetch me.  
  
I remember clutching onto her and hiding my face against her neck, not crying but simply holding on to her for dear life, because I was afraid and sore and da very angry and big. Maw isn’t a large or tall woman, but no one who knows her picks a fight with her willingly, least of all da. I could hide in her arms, knowing da couldn’t get to me and not grandpa’s or grandma’s hands either. Maw was so pissed and she talked with her dangerously low voice to da, hissing at him that he was a fucking piece of shit and she couldn’t believe she’d married such an asshole. Then she carried me to my room, took the green blanket from my bed and wrapped it around me before going out to the exterior corridor, kicking the door to close it and sat down with me on the bench.  
  
She let me cry in her arms until I was out of tears and she kissed my hair and sang to me. When I’d calmed down and mostly sobbed a little, she asked me why I didn’t want to say hello to grandma and grandpa and I told her what I’d tried to tell da. That I wanted to say hello, but not touch. That I didn’t like when grandpa grabbed my arm, that it hurt so I bit him. Biting was naughty, I knew that, but _I said hello_ and hands were icky. Maw asked me if it was only grandma and grandpa’s hands that were icky and I shook my head. All hands. And hugs. All but maw’s and Fiona’s and now I didn’t like da’s either because he’d spanked me and I didn’t actually _want_ to bite him or grandpa but I _had_ to because…. And then I guess my six year old brain couldn’t explain further so I just sobbed.  
  
We sat in the darkness and she told me I didn’t have to shake hands anymore. And da wouldn’t spank me because biting was naughty but pulling my arm like that was naughty too and if someone ever tried to force me to shake hands again if I didn’t want to, I should tell that maw said I didn’t have to. I really liked that and I asked if da and grandpa had really been naughtier than me and maw said yes. I asked who would spank them because in my six year old mind, if maw said they’d been more naughty than me, they should be punished too. She smiled and said she’d punish them when I’d gone to bed. But if I wanted to, I could fall asleep in her arms under the stars and then she’d carry me to bed. I wanted that.  
  
And then she started telling me a story.  
  
Maw loved fairytales, still does, and she told me what would become my favourite story, _Prince Hat Under The Ground_. She told me she’d once heard from a friend who’d moved to Norway, who’d found it in a library, made a handwritten translation to maw and sent it to her, knowing maw would like it.  _Ye’re the first one I tell this story, a leanbh, a thaisce… My child, my treasure… Once upon a time, there was a king who had three daughters_ _and they were all much talked about for their beauty._  
  
She told me of the princesses and the invisible, mysterious man who called himself Prince Hat, who’s face no one could se. I was spellbound, forgot about da, grandma and grandpa as she told bout the prince who’d been bewitched and had to live in the darkness, and the princess who was promised to him but had to promise never to try and see his face. _Ye see,_ _they lived in darkness, Edward, but they were not afraid…_  
  
For most of my life, darkness has been something calming. A protection. I’ve never been afraid at night since that time when I sat in maw’s lap and heard that story. Not until I was thrown out of that car in a place where the night, the darkness, could’ve killed me. The night has always been my shield, but not anymore. Not since that night.  
  
The lights are on. Behind pink curtains, a lamp shines like a beacon from our window, spreading a soft, rosy shimmer in our bedroom. I have a wall of pillows alongside my back, an illusion of safety and I hear my husband’s calm, steady breaths, his heartbeats against my skin. I sigh.  
  
”Can’t sleep, babe?”  
”No…”  
”What are you thinking about?”  
”A fairytale.”  
”Fairytale?”  
”Aye… T’is stupid, I just… came to think of it…”  
”What’s the name of it?”  
”Prince Hat under the ground.”  
”Prince Hat under the ground?”  
  
I can hear from the tone of his voice, he’s not heard it and I feel stupid for telling him.  
  
”Nevermind, I just…”  
”That was your favourite story?”  
”Yeah… Maw told it to me one night when… when I… Was a bit clingy…”  
  
I don’t want to tell that memory. I know he has childhood memories he wants to keep to himself too so I don’t feel like I’m hiding something. My husband entangles a hand in my hair, massaging my scalp.  
  
”You know, I actually never heard a fairytale when I was a kid.”  
”What?”  
”Well, maybe in school and I read myself, but I was ten when I came to Hal and before that… Let’s just say telling me fairytales wasn’t required by the social services.”  
  
We rarely talk about Billy’s childhood before Hal, but it wasn’t a happy one. I feel like a selfish ass who’ve been laying here, almost feeling sorry for myself for the memory when my husband walked around with bruises and had no maw to hold and shush him, calling him her treasure, read stories and comfort him when he was sad and hurt. Suddenly I feel the urge to tell him the story. To be the one doing the comforting and not the other way around, even if I’m the one who’s scared of the darkness.  
  
”Ye want to hear it?”  
”The one your mom told?”  
”Aye. Prince Hat under the ground.”  
”You remember it?”  
”By the letter.”  
  
He rearrange us so I can lay on his arm as he buries his nose in my hair and rubs my back in gentle circles. And I tell him.  
  
”Once upon a time, there was a king who had three daughters and they were all much talked about for their beauty. The youngest of them wasn’t just beautiful, but also had the kindest soul. One day, the king was going to the market, far away. He asked his daughters what theywanted as a market gift. The two eldest, asked for all kinds of precious things, but the youngest asked for nothing. She thought she was a lucky bure, already having all things she could wish for…”


	34. Billy (1st person)

At first, he was just a shadow. One of three faceless, nameless monsters. Inhuman, because what human being could do something like that? I talked to you that night, just after the concert, as you, Ben and Jacob were on your way to the pub. You were slightly tipsy and very pleased with the show, Behemoth and especially Nergal himself had been on top. It was the first concert you’d been to for a while, the first time you had a night out with your best friends in weeks due to unsynced schedules and you told me not to stay up and wait. You sounded so happy and I smiled when we hung up.  
  
I left the light on in the hallway, took a bath and brushed my teeth. I knew you’d not want to wake me up when you came back, so I opened the door to your room, removed the cover and turned the window light on. Didn’t want you to stumble in the darkness while being all high on music, tipsy, tired and all that with one eye. Then I went to bed and when the phone rang early next morning and an unknown voiced asked if I was William Manderly, husband of Edward Low, for a second, the longest in my life, I thought you were dead. I still can’t recall how I managed to get to the hospital, the timeline from the second I hung up and the moment I saw you in the hospital bed, is somehow still erased from my memory.  
  
When the doctor, the older one I came to hate, told me what had happened I couldn’t take it in. What he could tell with certainty from the injuries. I heard him, heard the actual terms and diagnoses. Anal bleeding, clear signs of violent penetration and markings from intense and repeated intercourse on your genitals. Pneumonia, minor hypothermia and wounded feet. Feet? I remember reacting to that, only that, and was told your shoes, coat and scarf had been found in a ditch. You’d been found by a couple on their way home from something, graveyard shift at work perhaps, as you managed to climb up from the ditch and walked towards the lights from town.  
  
I was handed your ruined clothes in a bag and that’s when I broke down and cried. I sat with the plastic bag marked with your social security number, where your ripped, wet, blooded and dirty Behemoth t-shirt was neatly folded, as if that would make any difference.  
  
One man and two women. I don’t know what I’d expected to hear, but not that. One monster was what I’d pictured, if I was able to picture anything but your assaulted body, but not two. Not three. Not a familiar face.  
  
I’ve kissed one of your monsters.  
  
I’ve laughed with him over a steak and wine at The Ivy Kensington Brasserie, felt his hands slide sweet and respectfully over me at first, his intelligent, haunting eyes that made me feel wanted in the good way. At first.  
  
I don’t know why I do it. Why I try to find signs of the monster in the man I used to kiss and in the same time trying to deny it’s there. I’ve seen what it’s capable of in the most horrifying way and separating that creature from the man, placing them as far as possible from each other, is perhaps my own so much easier version of how you handle this nightmare. Your wellbeing and the assholes current location in Bahamas, one he’s not planned on leaving for a long time, according to his Facebook page, are the only things keeping me from committing a violent crime. For the moment.  
  
The women are still shadows, but I’m partly to blame for that. Before Woodes blocked me on social media, the phone and so conveniently found a way to prolong his Bahama visit, I only dared to try once to find the women. Alice and Charlotte. I don’t even know how they’re spelled and there were surprisingly many women with those names with different spellings among my ex’s two thousand Facebook friends. You’ve never repeated the names and the one time you did it, you were barely aware of your surroundings. They could just as well have been lies told to you as the drug began to cloud your mind.

This is why I take a plain piece of paper, an envelope and a briefmark from my desk and post a letter to an address in Leyton that probably will be sent forth to a to me unknown address in Bahamas, containing only two words:  
  
_I know._  
   
Then I go back home and cry in the garage before I pull myself together and wake you from your nap. In two hours, we have our last scheaduled preparation appointment – or lecture – with the Hamiltons. If everything works according to plan, a third family member will come home with us for real. One who’ll hopefully do a better job keeping my love safe from monsters, no matter if they're in the shape of a nightmare or a human.


	35. Ned (3rd person)

She’s his now and Ned can’t take his eyes of her. A three year old golden retriever, listening to the name Mary Read and with a harness telling people she’s a service dog and mustn’t be touched: _Service dog, do not pet!_ For a moment, Ned bitterly wonders if he should’ve had a sign that night saying: _Drunken Irishman, please do not pet, drug or rape but return safely to husband. Reward granted._  
  
Two paws on his thighs. Warm fur. And teeth hidden in the soft nose. Mary Read is not a watch dog and definately not trained to attack people but she’s big and strong and most of all calm when Ned is anything but. He doesn’t want to need her, but he does and he’s fallen for her completely. Billy smiles in the rearview window.  
  
”Would you like to grab something from Tea Amo for lunch?”  
”Ye can’t have dogs there, can ye?”  
”I don’t know, actually. But we could buy some sandwiches to eat at home if you like?”  
”Yeah… that would be nice.”  
  
He’s not left the house in weeks except for the dog training and the last time he ate out was the beer and burger before the concert. Sitting on a popular café isn’t an option right now.  
  
Ned hates this. The limitations and every time he’s reminded of the life he lived before. He’s not been to a coffee shop, café or restaurant, not visited the library or used records store. He’s not been to movies, not rehearsed or watched theatre, not been to pubs with friends, not had his long walks… Nose buffing his clutched hands. Eyes that seem to say _don’t go there, Ned, stay with me and my soft fur and four non-human paws._ She’s heavy on his lap and covers Ned’s hands with her paws.  
  
It works. Not immediately, not completely, but it’s a clear difference. Billy stops by a red light and turns around.  
  
”You alright, hon?”  
”Think so.”  
”You want to stay in the car while I pick up the food?”  
”Yeah.”  
  
With Mary Read he might actually do that without panicking. He swallows.  
  
”Ye lock the doors, right?”  
”Of course. Tuna mayo, as usual?”  
  
As usual. It’s been a long time since any _as usual_.   
  
”Ask if they can make it without mayo.”  
”I will. You want anything else?”  
  
”No, thanks. I’ll probably not even finish half of it anyway. Ti’s green light, babe.”  
  
Billy starts driving again and Ned is once more reminded of things he’s not done in a fucking eternity. Like driving a car. Strolling down the street. Sitting on a café with his husband or friends. Fucking eating out.  
  
Fur. Paws. Nose. Tail.  
  
Breathe, Ned.  
  
Billy will lock the car. No one can attack Ned while he’s buying lunch. And Ned’s not alone. Remember.  
  
Fur. Paws. Nose. Tail.  
  
Teeth. If someone threatens Ned, she will help. Mary Read will not allow anyone close. __  
  
Fur. Paws. Nose. Tail. Teeth. And breathe. He’s not been outside alone since he went on the panic walk and ended up in the bus stop. Billy’s parking the car and takes his seatbelt off.  
  
”I’ll be right back, hon.”  
  
Ned smiles in response. He’s tense but there is warm and heavy, furry weight on his lap. His husband steps out of the car, locks the doors and walks with fast, long steps towards the café. Ned pets the head in his lap.  
  
”He’s such a muppet, ye know that,  Mary Read? Or should I just call ye Mary? Or Maread…?”  
  
It’s a relief, talking to someone who can’t answer. Who can’t ask questions _he_ wont answer. Billy’s felt weirdly calm today. Relaxed. Maybe he’s just relieved they’re getting the dog, but Ned isn’t sure that’s the whole thing. Even through the cloud of meds, Ned knows his husband’s faces and moves. This is Billy having things going his way.  
  
Thinking of that while focusing hands and eyes on his furry friend, takes him through the wait without panicking. The tension is there, but managable, thanks to door locks, the sight of Billy from a distance and most of all the presence of a big golden retriever. Ned buries his hands in the fur.  
  
”Ye’re a sweet girl. Glad ye’re helping me, but…”  
  
He sighs. God, he’s so tired. So lost in this complete mess, reminding of a life only thanks to others doing the work for him. Billy’s walking back from the shop and Ned looks at his silent friend.  
  
”Don’t think I’ll survive this, girl. And ye have to take care of him… when that day comes. Ye hear that? When I’m gone, ye have to stay with him.”  
  
Billy opens the door, sitting behind the wheel and placing a bag with boxes in the front seat.  
  
”You alright, babe?”  
  
Ned smiles.  
  
”I’m fine. Smells nice.”  
  
His beautiful, supportive, loving husband smiles too, so visibly happy that Ned could sit down in the car with a dog, waiting for ten minutes without freaking out. Billy turns the key and Ned closes his eyes, fingers aching from the tension.  
  
Yes, when Ned’s gone, Mary Read will be a good support for Billy. Ned knows, can’t explain why, but he just knows that this night wont end for him. Not here.  
  
He’s so tired. And he wants that smile on Billy’s face to stay.  
  
So Ned must go, sooner or later. And when he does, this furry comfort will go to someone who truly deserves her. Ned closes his eyes. Soon, the darkness will be his again.  
  
_TBC_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part two of "Down Foreverdark Woods Trail" - title from Bathory's "Foreverdark Woods" and the third part will be a continue on the same story.


End file.
